


Cobras and Canaries

by ViperStripes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Failed Dramione fic, Moody Slytherins, Order of the Phoenix Failed, Original Characters - Freeform, Pureblood Hermione Granger, Ravenclaw Hermione Granger, Riddle Redemption Arc, Riddle at Hogwarts Era, Romance, Slow Burn, Teenage Drama, Teenage Tom Riddle, Tension, Time Travel, Young Minerva McGonagall, Young Tom Riddle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2020-12-28 03:41:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 139,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21130172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViperStripes/pseuds/ViperStripes
Summary: The name of a mysterious man haunts Hermione Granger endlessly, but time is of the essence as she travels back to change the ever darkening future. Faced with fear and adversity, love and loss, will she find the will to continue dutifully and succeed? Or will she fall victim to the venom in her life: Tom Riddle?





	1. The Unknown Prophecy

**Author's Note:**

> I am moving this fanfic from FF.Net to Ao3 as I continue to work on this story. I started this fic in 2011, but took a hiatus in 2014 due to going off to college. Since graduating college, I decided to pick it back up to hone in my editing skills and get some fun writing practice in as I prepare to work on more original works in the future (and to finish this story, of course).
> 
> So, that means you may see some shifts in my writing style (nearly 9 years worth)! I have attempted to go back through the beginning chapters to clean them up and try to address any inaccuracies or errors, but it happens. So, if you see any continuity errors, HP Universe errors, etc. please be aware that these are not things I may not plan to necessarily go back and address (such as how this originally started out as a Dramione fic, whoops). This fic is a long labor of love, and I plan to push through and attempt to finish it by summer 2020 at the latest.
> 
> **Not all Pottermore, Fantastic Beasts, and Cursed Child content is included in this story--this is AU, please be aware.**
> 
> I do not own any content from the Harry Potter Universe--all credit goes to J.K. Rowling.

_Hermione Jean Granger,_

_ We would like to express our excitement that you shall be spending another year with us at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, will be coming to your residency at noon on the 29th of August _ _ to discuss your new duties as a returning prefect, among other topics of importance. _

_Signed,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

Hermione stared down at the letter as excitement bubbled up inside her. The summer had been far too long and cruel. Writing to Harry and Ron had only made her more anxious to return to the magical school of Hogwarts. She had grown weary of wasting away her days rereading the books upon her shelves, and instead had settled on numerous occasions for counting the amount of times Crookshanks' tail would tickle her nose with his wants for attention. 

However, a sense of confusion overwhelmed her. Why would she be receiving a letter about her return to Hogwarts? She had never received one in the past few years-save for the first letter she had ever received regarding the matter: her acceptance letter. Going into her sixth year, she felt this was a bit odd_._ She couldn't help but assume that the formalities were only due to the ending portion of the letter that stated Dumbledore would be coming to her home soon. Something within told her that the new prefect duties weren't the sole topic behind his impending visit. 

Folding the letter back up and placing it in the envelope, Hermione walked out of the kitchen and jetted up to her room. She plopped down on her bed and stared up at the ceiling. Her cat, Crookshanks, jumped on top of her purring noisily in an attempt to get her attention just as she had imagined he would. Gently stroking the ginger colored cat, she sat up and pulled a piece of stationary and a pen out of her nightstand. Using the stand as a hard surface, Hermione began writing to her two best friends since her first year at Hogwarts-Ron and Harry. She had yet to hear from them for about a week and was left to assume that Harry had probably arrived at the burrow, and in a rush to leave the Dursley's both he and Ron and forgotten to write. She rolled her eyes slightly as she imagined the two of them getting into mischief about the kooky structure that Ron called home. 

She wrote to the both of them on a single piece of pink-tinted stationary that she was to be expecting Dumbledore later in the week, and if all went well, perhaps she could join them before they all boarded the train for the new semester. She glanced at the small clock ticking on the wooden surface of her nightstand and quickly jotted down her remaining words before folding the paper neatly and sliding it into a matching envelope. She jotted down the address of the burrow on the back, and licked the seal shut. She heard the grandfather clock in her sitting room chime the hour. 

Hermione rushed over to her window as 3:00 p.m. struck. A medium-sized, dark brown owl sat upon the windowsill. Hermione found it convenient that an owl came on occasion from the Wizard Postal Service so she could easily communicate with Ron and Harry. Even though Harry was more than likely at the Weasley's home, she remembered what happened a few summers ago when she had attempted to call Harry by phone. It wasn't a very pretty incident. From then on she decided that it would be best to just send him letters via owl post. After handing her letter over to the owl's awaiting claws, she watched as it took off into the sky. 

Plopping down on her bed once more, thoughts of what her new duties could possibly be, friends, and the ever-nearing school year flitted through her head at lightning speed. She closed her eyes and decided that there was nothing more she could do than patiently wait on the arrival of Albus Dumbledore. 

* * *

The days scurried by in a frenzy of anticipation as the date approached in which Hermione would be speaking with the Headmaster of Hogwarts. She had told her parents at dinner on the very day she received the letter of his coming and they couldn't have been more excited about meeting the man who Hermione had told them so much about. They had communicated with him previously by letter-particularly under the instance of her experiences in the battle at the Department of Mysteries within the Ministry. Being muggles, he could not tell them as much as most, but he was able to tell them just enough to put the two loving parents at ease. 

"The Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, will be coming to your residency on the date of August 29th at noon to discuss your new duties as a returning prefect, among other topics of importance," Hermione read aloud for possibly the twelfth time to herself that day. Focusing on the last bit of the letter, she couldn't help but think that there was something very urgent he needed to discuss with her. 

At around noon the Grangers sat down in their living room waiting for Dumbledore to arrive. Hermione, who was pacing the room in both excitement and nervousness, paced over to the window and peered up into the sky which was scattered eerily with dark gray clouds. 

"Hermione, sweetheart, do sit down and relax. I am sure he will be here soon," Mrs. Granger chided and patted the cushion next to her on the side of the large couch that was not occupied by Mr. Granger. 

Most people claimed Hermione received her looks from her mother, and it was easy to understand why. They both had the same delicate hands for careful work and smallish noses that twitched often with distaste. On her slightly tanned skin, Mrs. Granger had a light dusting of freckles that mixed with age spots that had formed over the past few years. She had curly brunette hair, but much unlike that of her daughter's, it was smooth due to a practiced hand and rolled slightly to flatter her face. 

Then there was her father. He sat nearby, a smile crinkling his brown eyes as he watched his daughter pace anxiously about the room. He had darker hair than that of the two females of the family, but it had already become riddled with slight streaks of gray. Sometimes Hermione wondered that if her parents' aging was due to the stress at their shared practice as dentists, or if it was simply because of her. 

Furrowing her brow, Hermione, feeling obligated to sit down, did so beside her mother and took a deep breath. 

Not but a moment later, the large brick fireplace that had a small fire crackling merrily in the hearth seconds before lit up brilliantly, flooding the room in green light and flames. Ducked low, out clambered the Headmaster in pale blue robes with a matching hat. He straightened himself up with some difficulty and placed his hand on his lower back as he did so. 

"Getting a little too old to be using the Floo Network, I do believe," Dumbldore commented more to himself than the awaiting company. He shifted to face a beaming Hermione and a confused looking Mr. and Mrs. Granger. He reached out and shook their hands, respectively. "Ah, it' so very nice to finally meet the parents of one of our most prized students," Dumbledore said with a smile, "it is truly an honor." 

"The pleasure is all ours, Mr. Dumbledore," Mr. Granger stated, quickly gathering himself and motioning for the elderly appearing professor to take a seat in the armchair to the left of them. 

"Would you like anything to drink?" Mrs. Granger kindly offered as he eased into the chair. 

"A cup of tea would be absolutely charming, thank you," Dumbledore replied, as Mrs. Granger got up from her seat to go prepare the drink. 

"So, what were the things you were wishing to discuss today, Professor," Hermione piped up. 

"Well there are a number of things I would like to discuss, but we shall stick with the most important for now." Dumbledore's eyes averted from the Grangers, to the window displaying the swirling, dark sky above. He stood up slowly and moved over to have a better look out the four-pane window. When the Grangers said nothing, he continued, "Being a prefect at Hogwarts is a great honor. And as such, one can find many responsibilities—some of which aren't always easy." 

Mrs. Granger walked back into the sitting area, carrying an ornate tea cup—which Hermione recognized as their fine china, used only on special occasions—and handed it to Dumbledore. 

"Thank you kindly, Mrs. Granger," he offered as he gave an appreciative nod and she sat, smoothing her dress, before sitting back down with her attentive husband and daughter. 

Dumbledore turned from the window and looked at the family gravely and spoke in a calm tone, "As I am sure Hermione has told you, there is a war beginning. Not only in our world, but yours as well. Times have changed—and ultimately—so has the way society functions." 

Hermione saw this statement as unusual, but nothing really shocked her anymore since the return of Lord Voldemort nearly two yeas ago. She knew, just as well as anyone in the wizarding world that dark times were upon them. You could tell that things weren't right-even in the Muggle world. Dark storms continued to roll in day after day; there was a certain chill in the air, and a sense of uneasiness seemed to fill each alley and street. 

"Upon my journeys to the Ministry of Magic, I visited the Department of Mysteries where your daughter fought alongside her friends against Lord Voldemort and his fellow Death Eaters—as I am sure you are fully aware," Dumbledore said to Mr. and Mrs. Granger as he paced the room with a flicker of foreboding on his face. The Grangers nodded and Hermione instantly sat up straight. She knew whatever he was about to say was the "important" business that was mentioned in her letter. 

"I went back to check on the progress of how the cleaning up of the aftermath was going. Although nearly all of the prophecies were smashed during the fight against the Death Eaters, a few remained intact," Dumbledore continued back to his pacing, his concentration seeming to grow by the minute. "A few of these prophecies were not of major importance, but I happened to hear of when a certain prophecy was revealed. 

"One of the Ministry workers, Kingsley Shacklebolt, luckily had been at the scene when the prophecy began to reveal itself. Being one of my close colleagues he agreed to let me retrieve this specific memory so I could see it for myself." Dumbledore walked back to the window looked out of the window as the rain started fall from the ever-graying sky. Then with a wave of his hand all the curtains in the home were let down and swept in front of the windows. With a second wave of his hand the sound of the pouring rain outside disappeared entirely. Hermione assumed that he must've placed a charm on the house that prevented outsiders from listening in. 

Dumbledore turned back to the family with a calm smile, "Must take precautions, you know." He paced himself back to the chair and sat down. "The prophecy Kingsley was fortunate enough to have heard was a very peculiar one. Miss Granger, as I am sure you know of the prophecy that concerned Harry and Lord Voldemort. But coincidentally, I believe this prophecy to also obtain to the Dark Lord and Harry as well. 

"The prophecy revealed itself as follows," Dumbledore cleared his throat and withdrew a piece of parchment from the sleeve of his robes. Adjusting the half-moon shaped glasses upon his face he held the paper out in from of him and began to read: 

__ "The one who is deemed sound shall inherit his fortunes and his faults; the heir of a great legacy, the harbinger of many truths.  
__ A magic beyond any other; never written down or spoken.  
The power of blood will be given as once was taken; purified from any barrier.  
Time will hold no boundary, for the heir shall know none.  
Familiar to them, they will stop the opposition from great success.  
Either of the two forces cannot be vanquished without the aid of the heir.  
All shall fall as the ninth month approaches..." 

Dumbledore folded the parchment back neatly without saying a word, and neatly slid it back into the sleeve of his blue robes. He leaned back in the chair, resting his interlaced fingers on his abdomen, and his eyes falling quizzically on Hermione. She squirmed slightly under his intense gaze as she tried to put together the purpose of the prophecy and why he was telling her. Mr. and Mrs. Granger seemed that they were struggling to keep up at this point and settled for waiting for an explanation. 

"The prophecy spoke of an individual who would be close to one of the two; either Voldemort or Harry, I assume. I gathered that this person may have not originally been pureblood, but upon a deep magic of sorts, that this individual will become a pureblood. But not just any pureblood, it said seemed to voice that the person would become a direct descent of a great wizard-an heir. The prophecy also said that this particular individual, upon the decisions they make, will aid in the defeat of the enemy. Of which force the subject chooses to side with, it is entirely their choice. Consequently, that is why I am here." 

"I am not entirely certain if the individual will be foremost on Harry's side or Lord Voldemort's. I have done much research into this while traveling to hopefully uncover more about who this person may be and who the teller of this specific prophecy might be," Dumbledore stated. 

"You mean there isn't a record?" Hermione asked confusedly. 

"None that could be found. In each prophecy that is captured within a glass holder orb, the teller's identity is also captured. However, when this prophecy was unveiled, nothing could be traced but the fact that it was a male's voice," Dumbledore said inquisitively. Hermione's brow knitted together in thought. 

"Although the Dark Lord doesn't believe in friendships," the Headmaster stated, pulling her from her musings, "he does have close advisers that he trusts with his most crucial deeds. But it has come to my attention that Lord Voldemort is not very likely to harbor any sort of half-blood or less as a Death Eater, considering his strong stance on pureblood supremacy. This has brought me to the conclusion that unless Voldemort has some sort of secret adversary, then that leaves an ally of Harry." 

Dumbledore stood back up and moved over to the fireplace, looking at the glass ornaments that sat on the mantle. "I knew you and Mr. Weasley were the closest to Mr. Potter. But I also knew that although Mr. Weasley's family may be considered blood traitors, they are still, first and foremost, purebloods." Dumbledore picked up an ornament of a translucent, glass rose and held it up to catch the light from the fixture overhead. He marveled at the rainbows scattering within the finely crafted piece before sitting the object back on the mantle, and turning to the Grangers. "This has left me with only you, Miss Granger." 

Hermione stared incredulously at the elderly wizard's accusations. Her mind scanned through the possible half-blood Death Eaters, but she couldn't even come with a beginning family for a candidate. Hermione knew Harry would have automatically suggested Severus Snape. Harry had always had his suspicions of the dark potions professor, but she was aware of the coldness he had held present toward him since their first year. Harry's dislike of Snape clouded his judgment more than what should be plausible, in her eyes. _ Besides, if Dumbledore had this information, he has already taken it into consideration and closed the possibility _ . Hermione stared down at the carpet, but finally found her voice, "What does this mean, Professor Dumbledore?" 

"It could mean many things, Miss Granger—or it could mean nothing at all. I knew that you would always help Harry with whatever you could, including facing one of the darkest wizards of all time. But considering that the prophecy is correct, I suspect that your decisions will require more complicated matters than just deciding where your loyalties will lie. 

"If it is true that you are the individual who the prophecy pertains to, then a good question to ask now is how will this prophecy come into effect? Of which wizard or witch will you be a descendant of? It could unlock answers to this vague compilation of knowledge, but only time will tell." Dumbledore walked closer towards the fireplace opening. 

_How could he be leaving so soon? _ Hermione abruptly stood out from her seat on the couch. "But sir, how will I know if I am in fact who the prophecy is talking about?" 

"I do have a few good theories at which I would like to test, but it will have to wait until start of term. For now, I must be going. But Miss Granger, I am unsure if Voldemort has yet to learn of the prophecy, but due to the possibility of conspirators and tracking of owl post, I think it is best if we do not speak of this until school has begun." Dumbledore waved his hand once again like he had before their meeting had fully begun. The curtains flew back from the windows to their original state and the sound of rain—which was now pounding even harder—could be heard once more. "Have a good day, Miss Granger. I shall see you in September." 

Dumbledore gave Hermione's parents a final, parting smile and nod as he disappeared through the fireplace in a green, fiery burst. Hermione stood unmoving and stared at the now calm fireplace. Her head reeled as she tried to process everything Dumbledore had told her. 

"Hermione dear, are you alright?" Her Father's voice came to order. 

"Yeah… I'm fine… I think I'll go up to bed for a while. I didn't rest well last night," Hermione said, excusing herself lamely as she filed out of the room. She plopped down on her bed while a curiously understanding Crookshanks curled into her side. Hermione stared silently up at the ceiling as she stroked the purring feline, wondering what this would mean for her. The rain continued to pound heavily as low rumbles of thunder could be heard off in the distance. She sighed and ran a hand through her unruly mess of brown curls, not caring that they were now tangled and frizzed. 

After sometime of lying still, Hermione pulled a box out from under her bed and grabbed the letters from Ron and Harry that she had gotten the day before in response to her last letter. Her assumptions were correct; Harry was safely milling about the burrow with Ron and the rest of the red-headed Weasley's, but none the less, hearing from them was a comforting thought. She longed to write Ron and Harry and tell them about what she had just discussed with Dumbledore, but because of his orders, Hermione refrained from informing her friends and decided to wait until they would meet again at the start of the semester as sixth years students. 

_And we didn't even discuss prefect duties..._ Hermione shook her head slightly and sighed. 

* * *

"Draco! Hurry and get dressed! Your Mother and I are waiting!" The sounds of Lucius Malfoy filled the Manor as Draco hurriedly got dressed in his room on the second floor. Cursing under his breath he pulled on a finely pressed jacket as he ran down stairs. 

"Now there's a good boy," Narcissa Malfoy said while giving her son a peck on the cheek. "Quickly now, we mustn't be late." She ushered her son towards his waiting Father. 

"You never told me where we're going," Draco said impatiently. 

"Patience Draco, you will find out soon enough," Lucius said curtly. Draco scoffed at him, but couldn't help but notice the sense of urgency in his father's eyes and worry in that of his mother's. 

It wasn't necessarily anything new. Ever since his father participated in the fight against The Order of the Phoenix in the Department of Mysteries, his two parents had been nervous that the Ministry would discover his part in it and send him to Azkaban. Had Potter given in to his father's simple request, things wouldn't have escalated and the Malfoys wouldn't have to be walking on pins and needles. Draco frowned at the image that had formed in his head of the scarred boy. 

Lucius, held up his arm in a fashionable manner. Draco—even though he originally despised apparating due to the uncomfortable feeling—was beginning to get used to it now due to the recent inability to travel by Floo Network. It was too closely monitored by the Ministry to chance. Draco reluctantly took his father's arm and the uneasy sensation spread through him again, as though he were being squeezed through a tube. 

Mere seconds later Draco, Lucius, and Narcissa were standing in front of an old, rundown mansion. Lucius and Narcissa walked ahead toward the entrance of the dreary structure. Draco followed them quietly, though he could not help but wonder why in the world they were here. 

Inside the mansion were many trinkets that sat along various end tables, scattering the edge of the walls every few feet. The rug that stretched throughout the long hallway was covered in thick dust and grime. Draco grimaced at the filth polluting the floor as it began to stick to his polished, black shoes. Making their way up the stairs, the Malfoys turned the corner and stood before an arched, wooden door that was clearly carved elegantly despite the dust that clung to it. Lucius knocked on the door and entered. The room appeared to be a library holding hundreds upon hundreds of dust sodden books that covered the walls. 

Inside stood an array of disgruntled death eaters chatting quietly to one another. They seemed to also be curious as to why this meeting was called on such short notice. Despite the dirt, Bellatrix leaned up against the book shelf uncaringly, eyeing the others in the room while stealing careful glances at the dark lord seated beside her behind the only desk in the vicinity. 

"My Lord, we are here, as you wished." Lucius bowed lowly. Towards the desk in the center of the room that Voldemort himself now stood up from behind. 

"Nice to see you once again Lucius, Narcissa," Voldemort said in an eerie, semi-welcoming tone. 

Narcissa bowed, "Thank you, my Lord." The Malfoys joined the other death eaters and awaited the information each of them longed to hear. 

"Now that you all have arrived there are a matter of… things… I wish to discuss," Voldemort said with a hint of both disgust and grim pleasure. "You see it has come to my attention that a certain prophecy was discovered here recently while the Ministry was cleaning up the Department of Mysteries." Voldemort swept his white, bony fingers absentmindedly across the books behind the desk—turning away from the listeners momentarily. "This prophecy is the reason why I have summoned you all here. 

"I've also heard that, Draco," Voldemort's eyes averted to the blonde haired boy, "has become a prefect at my… Alma matter… as of last year," Voldemort gave a sneer of utmost hatred as Draco tensed under the Dark Lord's stare. "This prophecy concerns one of your classmates I do believe, Draco. 

"A close friend of Harry Potter's, is the topic of this prophecy. I am sure you are familiar of a Mudblood with name of Hermione Granger…?" Voldemort cocked his head to the side in question, although he knew his answer. Draco nodded. Voldemort turned his focus back on the group as a whole, allowing Draco a breath of relief as the tension lifted from his shoulders. 

"The prophecy says that either an ally of mine or Potter's will help decide the fate of who is to win this war. The ally will have been a Mudblood that becomes a pureblood due to a magic that was set years before even the first war apparently… It is subsequently important that I have her on my side or at least within my grasp. Not only will she possibly determine the outcome, but it is thought that she will inherit powers of such rarity from her newly bestowed ancestors, powers that could prove useful to our cause," Voldemort deducted, speaking more to himself than the people that stood in the room. 

The dark wizard focused his attention back on the young Malfoy heir. Draco didn't like being singled out—particularly in front of this specific set of people-But he kept his face stoic and attentive. Voldemort then continued. 

"You see Draco, it shall be your duty to keep close watch on the little Mudblood. Find out what it is that Dumbledore has been discussing with her and report it and any other changes back to your father who then shall report to me promptly. This mission solely rests in your hands, Draco, do _not _disappoint me." Voldemort was now nearly face to face with Draco with a look of threat, hostility, and evil plastered on his fleshy face. Draco gave a firm nod. Although he knew he did not have the option choice to refuse, he wished to do so, to go back into the comforts of his own room and away from the darkness that surrounded him... but he knew the consequences all too well. 

Voldemort rounded back to the molded desk. "I expect a report within the next few weeks, Lucius." 

"Yes, my Lord." Lucius bowed deeply, and with no further acknowledgement or warning, Voldemort vanished, allowing the an unsettling quiet to deafen the room. Voldemort's followers turned to one another murmuring and occasionally glancing at the blonde, young man before they also vanished one by one. 

"Consider it an honor, Draco. And do not disappoint _me_ either…" Lucius commanded to his son in hushed tones. Even though his father had spoken quietly, he gave a voice of authority that Draco had learned was best not to ignore. 

"Yes, Father," Draco spat under his breath as they apparated back to the Malfoy Manor, leaving the death eaters to speculate and place bets on the outcome. 


	2. Back to Hogwarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione returns to Hogwarts and encounters a mysterious portrait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thanks to those of you have favorited, followed, reviewed, or Kudos'd this story so far! This chapter takes a big interesting turn and is an important part in developing the story.
> 
> **Not all Pottermore, Fantastic Beasts, and Cursed Child content is included in this story--this is AU, please be kind and aware that there may be some information not included as this portion was pre-content release.**
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, the characters, locations, or cleverness. It all belongs to the wonderful J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. Studios.

"Bye Mom, bye Dad, I love you! I'll write soon, I promise," Hermione said smiling back at her parents as she clutched her luggage trolley and took off running to the wall in between platforms nine and ten. Disappearing from their sight, she entered platform 9 ¾. Continuing forward, she looked all around her; taking in the familiar sights and sounds. She was glad to be back. Looking to her right for Harry or Ron, she kept pushing her cart.

"Hey! Watch where you're go—"A scraping of metal was heard and a jolt jerked her and the trolley to a stop, taking down her and the stranger along with their luggage. Hermione immediately turned her attention to a hissing Crookshanks within his cage that had toppled off the top of the cart. Hermione quickly jumped up, retrieving the woven case.

"I am so sorry! I should've been paying attention," Hermione said fervently as she hurriedly began to straighten up the cart and replace the luggage back on the rack.

"You're bloody right, you should have been paying attention you filthy little Mudblood," Draco spat as he raised, brushing himself off, and began restacking luggage on his own trolley.

Hermione directly looked up at the platinum blonde haired boy shoving his luggage on the trolley and scowled harshly, wishing she had not even apologized. She stood behind her cart, both hands gripped on the sleek, metal handle tightly. Her eyes focused crudely on Draco.

Draco finally finished fixing his trolley's contents, turning sharply towards the bushy haired Gryffindor. He looked from her to his clothing with contempt.

"Do you know how long it'll take to wash your disgusting filth off my robes?"

"You know, everyone is entitled to be stupid, Malfoy, but you abuse the privilege," Hermione said calmly, not breaking eye contact with her counterpart, hands still gripping her trolley in a vice.

"Well, you know what? At least I'm not—" Draco quickly retracted his words, as he stared at the angry Gryffindor. Something clicked in the recesses of his mind as he saw her eyes flash from a steely gray to brown as she blinked repetitively at him. He looked at her mouth agape. If he had forgotten his mission, this caused him to remember it quite well.

Suddenly, gray irises shot daggers into his pale ones once more. Draco stood with his mouth hanging open as he tried to process his next course of action. Should he contain his harsh words? Would it even matter? It wasn't as though he was going to attempt to befriend her just because of the forced mission.

"Point taken," Hermione affirmed herself, easing out of the anger on her face and giving him a triumphant smirk. Draco had watched as she did so. The second before her harsh face had changed into an amused grin, right after she had blinked allowing herself to gain more composure, her eyes were once more a deep brown.

Draco, despite questioning his sanity, quickly closed his mouth and scowled slightly at her. He knew what he had seen and it would appear that Lord Voldemort would be getting a notice sooner than he had expected.

Draco remained thin lipped as he turned and pushed his trolley towards the train to board the Hogwarts Express. Dragging his luggage on board, he trudged to the compartment that he, Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise Zabini had sat in every ride since their second year. He slid the door open and slung his luggage on top of the the closest rack before closing it behind him once more and taking a seat beside Blaise. He couldn't help but imagine how Hermione Granger of all people could be destined for anything concerning the fate of this ongoing war. She was plain, uninteresting, and only concerned with how much information she could cram into her head. How could she be part of a prophecy that concerned the Dark Lord; a powerful, frightening being?

Draco could her Pansy Parkinson's squeals coming from behind the door of the seating compartment. She slid it open quickly and sat on the other side of him, latching onto his arm, stroking it gently. She started to tell him about her summer as a starry-eyed fourth year boy drug her luggage into the compartment, struggling to heave it atop the rack. After successfully placing her things in their proper place, the Slytherin student left disappointingly as he caught a glance at where Pansy had placed her attentions.

Draco Malfoy couldn't care less what the foolish girl had to say. He rested his head in his hand as his elbow sat atop his leg. He grew deep in thought about Hermione Granger, dissatisfaction and stress aging his young face.

* * *

"Hermione! There you are! We've been looking everywhere for you," Harry slid open the door allowing Hermione in as Ron grabbed her trunk and hefted it upon an upper rack within the cart they had chosen for the journey.

"Thanks," Hermione mumbled to Ron, "I had a little bit of a run in, but I'm fine." She closed the door and took a seat across from Harry next to the window, holding a now calm Crookshanks and his cage in her lap. The train whistled and lurched forward nearly causing Ron to fall over. She looked out the window, watching the waving families pass by. She suddenly wished she hadn't told her parents that she was fine enough to go ahead on her own; she wished they had been there so she could have someone to wave back at. They platform soon shrunk into the distance as greenery began dotting the view. Pulling herself from her thoughts Hermione turned to Harry.

"How was your summer?"

"It was all right. The Durselys were hardly bearable as always, but I managed to spend the last few weeks at the Burrow," Harry said as he scratched the back of his head, further messing up his already disheveled hair.

"Speaking of which, I thought you were coming down for the end of summer?" Ron asked as he took a seat next to Hermione.

"I thought so too," Hermione sighed while setting the cage on the floor and opening it to let Crookshanks out to stretch his legs, "but I had a meeting with Dumbledore close to the end of summer, so I had to stay."

"A meeting? What sort of meeting?" Ron asked, propping his long legs up in the across from him next to Harry.

"It's... complicated." Hermione stood up and closed the blinds over the compartment windows.

After locking the compartment door and placing a silencing charm on the room such as Dumbledore had done, she told Harry and Ron everything he had talked to her and her parents about. She recited the prophecy the best she could from memory and expressed her concerns after running into a frazzled Draco Malfoy not but moments earlier. She told them that Dumbledore was unsure if Voldemort knew of the prophecy and that the magic mentioned within it was nothing she had ever ran across while reading in the past. She cradled herself slightly as unease settled in her stomach from the conversation. She knew far too little about the ordeal than she liked to for sure.

A flabbergasted looking Ron and Harry plopped back into their seats from their original anxious positions of being leaned in once Hermione stopped her pouring of information. They were both wide-eyed and silent.

"I know it all sounds absolutely insane… but do you think it's true?" Hermione spoke slowly.

"I have no idea, Hermione. I've never heard of that kind of magic before…" Ron's eyebrows were furrowed together as he tried to process what she had just told him and Harry.

"But, it must be the truth if even Dumbledore is concerned," Harry stated assuredly. If anyone knew Dumbledore, it was him. Hermione found some comfort in that notion at least.

"Do you think You-Know-Who knows?" Hermione asked quietly her brows knitted together in confusion and worry.

"I dunno, Hermione, but even if he did we wouldn't let any—" Ron stopped short as something slid aside the door.

"Granger, Weasley! Prefect meeting now in the front compartment. Unless you'd rather stay here and discuss how much money Weasley has in Gringotts. Go ahead, it shouldn't take very long," Draco Malfoy sneered as he leaned on the door frame.

"When a door is locked, that often means _stay out_, Malfoy, or at least have some civility to knock first," Hermione said hurriedly in panic and anger. Not only was she stressed from the current topic at hand, but she was worried that he might have somehow been listening in. Draco didn't move and instead pulled annoyingly at the fabric on his dark school robes that held a sewn in patch of the letter "P" in silver and green. Hermione huffed to herself more than her companions. If Draco had already changed into his school robes they must be getting close to Hogwarts. She began to wonder how long they had been talking.

"Come on, Ron. We'll meet up with you later Harry." Hermione stood up grabbing Ron by the wrist cuff of his old sweater as they followed suit behind the strutting Malfoy and out of the door.

* * *

The meeting lasted until the train was almost to Hogsmeade Station. It had been a rather interesting session. To everyone's surprise, there had been some changes made to the previous years' prefect system. Although Hermione and and many of the other students, were made prefects in the past year, they had been promoted the title of Ground Prefects. Angelina Johnson and Ernie MacMillan returned as Head Girl and Head Boy. As they had explained, Ground Prefects now spent some of their patrolling time outside of the castle with many of the other off duty teachers to watch for suspicious activity. All other prefect duties will remain as they previously were, but only with extended patrolling hours. The patrolling areas and hours of the Head Prefects and Ground Prefects would switch on occasion, so there would be no unfairness between the two. Because of the new prefect positions, two new prefects were instituted into the system; a shy Ravenclaw girl and an eager Hufflepuff boy.

Draco had sat uncaringly, seeming to barely pay attention as information was given out. _How on Earth did _he _become a prefect? _Hermione didn't understand. Being a prefect was an honor given to the students held at high esteem… but here sat Draco with Pansy Parkinson clinging to him like dryer lint. She couldn't help but assume that perhaps he was trying to ignore the chatty prefect that kept trying to garner his attentions. Draco occasionally stole glances at Hermione, making her uncomfortable, but she settled with pretending not to notice.

Angelina finished her explanations with a smile, but the rest of the prefects simply sat picking at the cotton on their seats or sitting mutely, simmering on the thought of longer hours of duty. Inside, Angelina was just as confused as everyone else, but she knew that Dumbledore had good intentions on setting the rules differently.

After quickly changing into her school robes Hermione dashed off the train to meet Harry and Ron who were already waiting on the carriages. Rain had begun falling from the sky, dampening the ground below. As she ran, mud coated the tail-end of her robes and dotted up to her arms on occasion. She arrived just in time to jump in the carriage that was already being occupied by her best friends, Neville Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood—all whose robes were also drenched with rainwater and mud. Immediately the carriage began to pull itself down the sodden path and through the forest.

"Hello Hermione, did you know you have a bug in your hair?" Luna said dreamily not removing her eyes from _The Quibbler-_despite it appearing to have been wet and soggy for some time.

"Er… no," Hermione said awkwardly as she began running her fingers through the mess of her soaked, frizzing curls.

"I got it," Ron said as he leaned in closer. Separating her curls, he gently pulled a small beetle out of her hair.

"Thanks Ron," Hermione said as she turned to face him. Ron's face reddened discreetly at the proximity of his face to hers.

"It's not a problem," Ron stuttered before throwing the insect over the side of the carriage, trying not to be garner attention.

"Er… so how was your summer, Luna?" Harry asked distracting everyone from the awkward exchange and Ron's reddening face.

"Oh it was very good. Father had to call the Magical Creature Control Services to come rid our house of nargles twice, though. A very nasty scene it was." Luna said distantly before returning to reading. Hermione's mouth twitched slightly in response, wishing to giggle. The only people to have ever "seen" nargles were Luna and her father. She imagined the scenario played out with the Lovegoods doing much arm-flapping and wailing as they pointed to the floating nargles-leaving the service workers confused and frustrated at their inability to see the small beings.

"What about you, Neville?" Hermione asked after finally pulling herself from her musings.

"It was okay. My grandmother spent most of the summer at the newest hat shop in Hogsmeade... Unfortunately I had to spend the remainder of my summer modeling her new hats…" Neville trailed off in embarrassment and looked down at the wooden boarding on the carriage.

The conversations no longer continued as they rolled up to the castle. _Hogwarts… There is no place I'd rather be._ Hermione couldn't help but smile to herself as she looked up at the brilliantly lit towers of all shapes and sizes.

After the soaking wet and muddy passengers arrived, magically cleaned and dried themselves, and the Sorting was done, the Great Hall flooded with continued chatter among the students about their summer events. But surprisingly, Dumbledore did not stand up for his beginning of the year speech. Instead, glorious mounds of foods filled the table as the students began to help themselves.

Hermione looked up at the staff table. The teachers had begun filling their plates. She watched as Professor McGonagall chatted enthusiastically with Professor Sprout. Her eyes traveled to Hagrid who loaded his plate with an entire chicken, all the while grinning sheepishly and occasionally bumping the table—jostling the drinks slightly and mumbling a sorry every time. Severus Snape looked at the half giant in annoyance and scanned the room, eyes mimicking the diligence that of a hawk. He narrowed them as they encountered the messy, black hair of Harry Potter. His eyes met hers, squinting in a cold and calculating manner—almost as if he were trying to bore into her mind by means of her eyes. She snapped her gaze down quickly, and then averted them to the Headmaster. Instead of eating, Dumbledore was leaned back in his seat, his chin perched atop his hands that were being supported by his elbows on the arms of the chair. He looked off into the crowd in deep thought. Hermione knew that had the students not much to say in returning from their summer holidays, that they all would have been quizzical at the Headmaster's actions.

"Oi Er-my-nee, ar'n you goi'n to eat sumf'ing," Ron asked, his mouth full of chicken and mashed potatoes. Turning her attention back to her friends, she smiled and heartily filled her own plate.

Soon the dessert portion of the meal passed and Dumbledore got up from his chair and stood in front of his golden, owl pedestal. "Welcome back to another year here at Hogwarts! Once again Mr. Filch would like me to tell all the students that all Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes products are forbidden. Also, Professor Sprout asks you to acknowledge that the Whomping Willow has come down with a nasty cold and to not come within twenty feet of the tree unless you wish to risk your very life. Prefects will lead the rest of the students to their dorms, while the Head and Ground Prefects begin patrol. Now off to bed and goodnight to you all!" Dumbledore waved his arms lavishly towards the Great Hall doors.

Quite often Dumbledore would have given the students some bit of quirky advice, short lesson, or something practical, but the Headmaster had barely greeted them before ushering them to bed. Hermione wondered if he had simply been lost in thought, or if he had been trying to discern what to tell the students-a first, if so.

The students filed out of the Great Hall loudly and began following their house prefects up to their respective dorms. After a few lingering students and first-years dashed off, the remaining prefects waited to begin their shift duties.

Hermione, Angelina, Ernie, and the Hufflepuff boy who she learned had the name Luke Arkes, stood in the now empty foyer waiting for instructions. Surprisingly, it was Dumbledore who made his way out of the Great Hall, and approached the waiting officers with instructions.

"Miss Johnson, Mr. Macmillan, you may begin your patrol of grounds with the rest of the staff. Mr. Arkes, you may begin your patrol of the West wing. Miss Granger, I would like you to patrol the East wing. That will be all for tonight. If you have any questions, please, do not hesitate to ask," Dumbledore said to the students as they nodded with understanding. He then parted with an inclination of his own head and a smile, off to attend to his own duties as Headmaster of Hogwarts.

The Head Prefects went their respective ways, patrolling the halls of Hogwarts. Hermione's route would lead her to circle the corridors of the Ravenclaw tower and Slytherin dungeons. Over the course of her six years at Hogwarts, she had seen plenty of the old castle's mysteries and passages, but never had she explored the surrounding areas of the other houses' dormitories (save for Hufflepuff when she, Harry, and Ron had snuck into the kitchens).

She made her way up a collection of winding staircases, patrolling all the while and keeping a keen eye on the lookout for any mischief. She continued to climb staircase after staircase as they seemed to never end, but soon she reached the highest tower in Hogwarts: the Ravenclaw dormitory.

She passed by the door holding a shiny, slumbering knocker—the dorm's keeper—she assumed, and went on into the entry hall. She looked up at the slanted ceiling of the tower. It continued to spiral in a peak at the very top. It seemed so much larger than what Hermione had once believed it to be. She crossed to the other side of the hall and looked out of the one of the stone-arched window. A cool breeze tickled her skin and she could hear the wind whipping at the tower due to its massive height.

Out in the near distance, she could see the Owlery which held a faint glow inside. In its shadows, she could see owls of all sizes and colors spreading their wings in flight preparing themselves to nest for the night. Hermione could clearly tell that the owls were glad to be free from the cages of their owners. She watched the owls in contentment. _Only at Hogwarts_. She smiled to herself, easily catching sight of a snowy owl that could only be Hedwig, Harry's owl.

_Come on, Hermione. You've wasted enough time bird watching. _She raised her chin from resting in her palm, removing her elbow that had been leaning on the windowsill. She had always found the flight of a bird a magical thing—especially as a child. She had harbored a crippling fear of flying from high up for as long as she could remember, but there had been many times when she had wished to be as carefree as the birds above her. Soaring the skies as with the rulers of the Heavens, protectors of the clouds, songstresses of the night. The fascination had never completely died with age.

Hermione continued to walk with her head in the clouds (almost literally), and let her feet carry her on down the halls to the opposite stairwell to exit and continue her patrol.

She made her way down the winding stairs, and took the right hallway that would eventually lead to the dungeons and Slytherin dorms. The level of the floor seemed to slowly sink as she made her way through the long passage—and deeper into the Earth. Unlike the free, cool breeze that had blown in the drafty Ravenclaw tower, the coldness as she descended into the entry way of the dungeons seemed to creep upon her skin. A musty smell hung thick in the air. It wasn't an unpleasant smell, but it gave her a sense of suffocation and confinement unlike when inside the Ravenclaw or Gryffindor towers.

She pulled her robes closer to her, shielding out some of the cold. After a small set of steps, the hall finally leveled off. The shadowy outer hallway of the dorm entry way was eerily quiet. She couldn't understand how the Slytherin students could find comfort in such a place. The ghostly feeling of the empty hall led Hermione to retract her wand from the inner pocket of her robes in which it had been stashed for safe keeping.

"_Lumos," _she whispered, allowing a small amount of light to illuminate the dank passage. She continued on her way, her shoes clacking on the stone-flagged floor all the while, causing echoes to bounce off of the walls.

Absentmindedly, Hermione allowed her hand to trail against the wall ever so slightly. Her initial thoughts had been that the walls would feel slimy and slippery. But, as she let her hand glide against the rock, she found they weren't. The rocks were smooth and cold to the touch—if slightly damp.

Everyone knew that the Slytherin dormitories were settled beneath the Great Lake, but it seemed as though the lake was almost a _part_ of the castle dungeons; water seemed to effortlessly drip slowly from the walls, but no source could be found.

Hermione felt a wisp of cold hit the back of her neck—almost like a breath. She turned around quickly, her wand pointed towards the giver of the source, but she saw none. Her face paled and her stomach dropped slightly. She had expected to see someone standing there. Standing frozen for a moment, she hesitated before calling out.

"Hello?" She received no response. _Oh, this is ridiculous._ Snapping back to her calm, straight-backed self, she let her voice ring through the corridor, "As a prefect of Hogwarts, I am issuing that all students return to their dormitories at once." She waited. When no response—not even footsteps—registered, she swallowed hard.

Turning on her heel, she walked—quickening her pace. What some may have seen as a diligent, purposeful stride was actually a slightly fearful Hermione.

She came to the end of the hall in hopes of quickly exiting the dungeons, but saw nothing but a fork in her path, leading to two other dark corridors. She groaned inwardly before her brain went to work. She remembered a nearby secret passage Harry had told her about. The tilted passage provided entryway to the two floors above, resting midway between the Slytherin commons and the stairs leading to the Ravenclaw dorms.

She recalled listening to Harry and Ron recount the events of their second year when they had spied on Malfoy—having suspicions that he was the Slytherin Heir, wreaking havoc among the students. When the polyjuice potion began to lose its effect, the boys had told Hermione they snuck through a passage Fred and George had told them about for a quick getaway. _The Marauder's Map, no doubt._ She rolled her eyes at their "cleverness."

_The portrait with the sleeping dragon._ She looked down both halls, squinting her eyes in the darkness—trying to distinguish the paintings. "_Lumos Maxima."_ The hallways were illuminated even further, giving her relieving the nipping fears that had been growing. She pointed her wand into the right hallway and immediately saw the sleeping dragon painting.

The dragon's dark, red body moved silently up and down in his deep slumber. Hermione carefully placed her fingers behind the edge of the painting, slowly opening it as to not startle the resting beast. When she pulled the painting apart enough to climb in, she stepped through the hole in the wall, gently pulling the painting back to its original state.

Hermione groaned inwardly as she encountered an even narrower passage. _Thankfully this one is quicker._ Hermione had never been one to sneak around Hogwarts by means of secret passage particularly, but she felt this time she could be allowed the exception.

She made her way through the dark pass as quickly as possible, but came to a halt as she approached a painting that hung on the cobwebbed wall. There had been no other paintings or decorations within the vicinity, but this lone portrait.

She edged closer to it for examination. The picture was hanging slightly crooked, in a cracked, golden frame. In the portrait, a man with light, determined eyes stared back at her—a small grin on his face. His dark, shoulder length hair hung down, rivaling the unruliness that of Harry's. He was without a question an attractive man, but even with a completely list of the portraits and paintings, she had never seen his mentioned in her favorite book, _Hogwarts: A History._

Hermione then noticed another thing that startled her slightly. Unlike the majority of the portraits in Hogwarts whose occupants move, talk, and even visit one another for afternoon tea, this said painting mirrored those of the Muggle world; it did not move.

Dust coated the outer edges of the painting, covering a lot of the frame's design, but just below the man's portrait, she saw a small, golden plate hiding under the dust. Using her other hand that was unoccupied by her wand, she rubbed the rusting plate until she could distinguish the words underneath.

_Alphard Corvus._ The name did not ring a bell. She had no quill or parchment at the moment to right down the name in case she forgot it, so continuously, she mentally repeated the name to herself. She wished not to forget; she wanted to inquire about the name in the library later. She began to walk past the portrait and up the slanting floor toward her destination.

Giving one final glance over her shoulder at the silent man, Hermione's mantra in her head had turned into audible words.

"Alphard Corvus," she spoke almost questioningly, tilting her head slightly.

She then turned for the last time, walking up the dark passage and to the exit as the Bloody Baron watched her from the shadows—a look of curiosity and knowing ghosting his translucent face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have 23 chapters worth of story content I will be adding in succession throughout the week. Stay tuned and please review or leave a Kudos! I would love to know how well my story is received on Ao3 since I am new to the community here! :)


	3. Darker Days Follow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione tolerates Draco and things go terribly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When the fic became a failed Dramione and I decided to bring Riddle into the mix. Thanks to everyone who has left a Kudos, subscribed, and commented this motivates me to keep uploading!
> 
> **Not all Pottermore, Fantastic Beasts, and Cursed Child content is included in this story--this is AU, please be kind and aware that there may be some information not included as this portion was pre-content release.**

As Hermione emerged out of the portrait, she was greeted with grunts and startled yelps of surprise as a group of old men sitting around a table in the portrait shouted in displeasure. Hermione quickly jumped out from behind the painting, closing it.

"Sorry! Er—sorry! I didn't mean to disturb you," She said defensively holding up her hands as the elders in the painting shifted their furniture back to normal once more and began picking up the chess pieces that had fallen off their table. She heaved a sigh of relief as the protests had quieted to deep murmurs of disapproval.

Being out in the Hogwarts hallway, she noticed she was by the Great Hall entrance. With a silent _nox_, she put out her luminescent wand, tucking it safely in her robes. Her patrolling duties should be almost finished by now—as it was nearing midnight. She decided to make her way toward the Gryffindor common room.

"Alphard Corvus. Alphard Corvus… Alphard Corvus... Alphard Corv—"

"What was that, Miss Granger?" Hermione looked up startled and cut short at the voice of Albus Dumbledore. She breathed a sigh of relief that it was him and not Snape—or any other teacher—who may have become cross with her for making such a racket. She finally regained her composure.

"Oh, er… nothing, Professor. Just thinking of spells we might perform in Charms class tomorrow," She offered with a slight smile.

Dumbledore looked at her momentarily with a look of seriousness. _He didn't buy it…_ But she was surprised when he smiled back with a twinkle in his eye.

"If you are sure, Miss Granger, I ought to be headed to bed now, as should you," he spoke, still smiling.

"Of course. Goodnight, Professor," She said more quickly than she would have liked.

"And you, Miss Granger," He offered with a tip of his head in acknowledgement. She ushered past him keeping a calm demeanor all the while continuously repeating Alphard_ Corvus _in her head until she reached the Gryffindor dorms.

Had she not been so distracted, she might've noticed the weary look, clouding the tired body of one, Albus Dumbledore.

Although it was just six in the morning, Hermione sat near the fireplace already dressed with her books stacked beside her on the common room couch. Despite the fact that she was still tired from having to wake up so soon, her excitement about the start of term had helped to fuel her morning.

She had stayed up much of the night pacing near her window, still wondering who Alphard Corvus was. Although she hoped that the name would charge the recesses of her mind and she would receive an answer, nothing came to her. Eventually a grumbling Lavender Brown lead Hermione to finally trail to her own bed and get some rest—but not without writing the name down and shoving it in her nightstand first.

Hermione lifted up her new copy of _Ancient Runes: Year 6 by Bartholomew Bliztess _and began reading to pass the hour until she would be meeting up with Ron and Harry for breakfast in the Great Hall. She looked up into the low, flickering fire in the hearth of the common room fireplace. She tried to absorb herself into reading the book, but her mind kept wandering back to the thoughts of a certain prophecy and a certain name.

When the common room clock finally read six-thirty, Hermione shoved all of her books into her bag—casting a weightlessness charm on it to make the task of carrying it not as daunting. She then slung the bag over her shoulder, and exited the Gryffindor common rooms.

She walked down the stairs seeing only two students—a Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff—along her way. Not many students were awake and probably wouldn't be until seven thirty when breakfast in the Great Hall would officially begin. She decided she would use this time to visit the library to try to find information on the mysterious man in the secret passage portrait.

"Merlin, Granger. Why are you awake so early?" She heard the boy speak from behind her. She turned, seeing none other than Draco Malfoy leaning against the stone wall of the back hallway to the library she was in.

"Shouldn't I be asking you the same question?" Hermione retorted and rotated back around to commence her trek to the library. She could almost _hear_ Malfoy sneering at her from behind. "Is there something you want, Malfoy?"

"No. I was just wondering why anyone in the right mind would get up so early before breakfast and begin studying when the term hasn't even started yet." Draco concluded with a disapproving shrug. He knew there wasn't any sensible reason as to why someone should be up this early at the start of term... and headed to the library, no doubt._ Unless they were up to something… _But then again, this was Hermione Granger; the girl who had truly surprised him in their third year by nearly knocking the blond-haired Slytherin cold.

"Well not everyone sleeps in until class starts, Malfoy. Some of us prefer an early start. Have you ever thought of that?" Hermione huffed, readjusting the shoulder strap on her bag, tired of his pointless interrogations. "If you don't mind Malfoy, I will be going off to the library now, unless you'd like to question why on earth I would do that also." Hermione stared coldly at him as he shot daggers from his eyes, a permanent frown pasted on his face.

_Why does she always have to be so touchy? Maybe this whole mission in itself was a fool's errand. This stupid girl is going to be the death of me… literally._ Draco walked until he stood towering above her. Hermione retracted slightly, disliking the proximity in which they were now placed. "What's wrong with trying to create a small conversation? Your kind really _doesn't_ have any manners or civilities toward anything do they? Especially your superiors it seems…" He spat. Draco stared at her intently, wondering how she could even be considered an important link to the war that was now plaguing the Wizarding world.

"Manners…? Civility…? Who are you to talk to me about either of those! My blood will be purer than yours ever will be, Malfoy." She said in revulsion stepping towards him, sneering at his face.

"Purer…" Draco laughed coldheartedly, closing in on Hermione, causing her take a few steps back. "The mud that runs through your veins is thicker than that of the Forbidden Forest swamp. You will always be nothing but a _pathetic…_ _filthy… Mudblood._"

Tears of anger and frustration threatened to seep out of the corner of her eyes, but Hermione held them back with all she could. She withdrew her wand and pointed it at the blonde haired boy.

"_Expelliarmus!_" Hermione shouted, pulling out her wand from her robes. The spell thrust Draco roughly through the air, causing him to land flat on his back on the stone floor of the hall. His breath audibly knocked out of him; he glared at the bushy-haired witch with absolute malice.

She straightened her back, now towering above him with the upper hand. "You know _nothing_ of me, Malfoy, and you _never_ will…" She stuffed the wand back into her robes as she felt tears threaten to leak out of her eyes. She shot a cold look at the stunned Slytherin, and continued on her way to the library.

Draco had not moved from his position on the ground—his head was still reeling from what had just happened. He stood up quickly, dusting himself off and looking around in case anyone saw his humiliation. He stood there seething, as rage continued to pulsate in him.

He quickly walked opposite from her direction towards the dungeons to calm himself before the mission became an utter loss.

Hermione entered the library. The quiet air, warm aura, and comforting smell filtered through her senses. Despite her frustration and upset feelings she had had moments before, they quickly began to fade as the she stared at the endless rows of books. Smiling inwardly, she gripped the strap of her messenger bag tightly. _Time to get to work._

Hermione passed up the _Charms, Divination, and Potions_ rows of the library and made a beeline for the _People and Other Historical Figures _section. Eventually arriving at her destination, buried deep in the back of the library, she sat down her satchel and stared upward at the book shelf towering before her.

She had no time, no event, and hardly any evidence that this being had once existed aside from a name and a portrait. She knew research would be daunting. Pulling _Hogwarts Figures and Foes_from the shelf, she quickly immersed herself into her studies.

Emerging out from behind a massive pile a books, Hermione sighed in disappointment; it had been nearly an hour later and after skimming through what felt like one hundred books, she had still came up emptied handed. Nothing on Alphard Corvus, the passage, _or_ the painting had been found.

She began re-stacking the books in their rightful places, keeping down two she had yet to read through. Once she had completed her task, Hermione checked out her additional reads and exited the library feeling empty handed.

Hermione walked down the halls, passing a cluster of students along the way. She glanced at her wrist watch. It was almost official breakfast time. She clutched her library books tightly to her chest—eager to have a seat and research more while eating.

She entered the Great hall where many students sat at the four long tables that were already decked out with breakfast items of various sorts. She took place in the seat where she, Ron, and Harry usually sat at the Gryffindor table. She placed her belongings beside her in the floor and opened one of the borrowed books, commencing her studies. Moments later the Great Hall began to flood with students in their school robes.

"Hey, Hermione!" Ron said as he and Harry dropped their book sacks and sat down across from her. She flashed a quick smiled at them, trying her best not to stray from the sentence she had stopped on. Unfortunately, she knew it would be an inevitable feat and marked the page with a spare piece of parchment before spooning a large amount of eggs onto her plate and grabbing a few pieces of toast.

Hermione had tried to engage in the conversations circling the Gryffindor table, but continued to resort back to her ponderings on Alphard Corvus. Ron and Harry were so absorbed in their discussion about the upcoming Quidditch tryouts that she didn't worry too much about not talking.

"I still can't believe Cormac McLaggen is trying out this year," Ron scoffed as Harry nodded in agreement as they filed out of the Great Hall after breakfast. "If we get lucky maybe the git will fall off his broom before the first practice is over." Ron said mischievously. Usually Hermione would voice her disapproval in their schemes, but she didn't feel up to talking at the time.

"Yeah, let's hope that at tryouts today the wind will be in our favor and not in that of McLaggen's over-sized head." Harry snorted; he had never been one to enjoy the company of McLaggen, even if he was a good Quidditch player. "Anyways, we'll see you later Hermione."

She watched as Ron and Harry exited for Herbology down the left-hand corridor from the Great Hall, she felt relief as she turned down the opposite corridor. Finally able to fully absorb herself into her pondering, she hoped to cram in some more research during her first class.

Hermione walked in the general direction of her next class, daydreaming of the wild look resting in the eyes of the silenced, framed man. Had Hermione not touched the painting, she would have been for sure that he was playing a prank by not moving. _Everything about the portrait seemed too life like to _not_ be enchanted somehow._

Hermione glanced at her wrist watch quickly as the thought struck her. She cursed herself with a mumbled under her breath and redirected her attention to her destination, dashing quickly.

Hermione made speedily entered the _History of Magic_ class room—all the while trying to slow her breathing rate.

"Sorry I am late Professor Binns!" Hermione huffed as she entered the classroom, her cheeks tinted pink from sprinting up the stairs.

"Quite alright, just take a seat," Professor Binns said lazily as he turned back towards the class. Hermione saw Draco sitting by himself in the front. _He must've been late too. _Hermione knew this because by choice, no one ever sat in the front, especially in History of Magic. She rushed to the front desk in the furthest right corner away from Malfoy and pulled out her book, quill, and parchment.

After taking an extensive amount of notes over the second raid of Gringotts, Professor Binns turned to face the remaining students that managed to stay awake apart from Hermione.

"Now if you will, work with your partners at your table to put these events in order from the raid itself to the arrival of the Ministry of Magic. Mr. Malfoy, you can work with Miss Granger." The class groaned. It was a rare thing when Professor Binns gave out an assignment, but regardless of this fact, hardly anyone was ever prepared for when he did.

Hermione leaned further back in her chair and looked over to Draco with a frown plastered on her face. He stared back, refusing to move from his spot to go sit with her. If he was expecting her to move, she was going to do the exact opposite. So she turned back to her books and began sketching out her timeline.

A few moments later Hermione heard the screech of a chair and felt the slamming of books down beside her on the table. A seething Draco Malfoy pulled out his book and writing supplies and began to scribble out the timeline, paying no regards to Hermione. Minutes passed as the two sat in silence, refusing to even merely look at one another.

"You're doing it wrong," Hermione stated plainly in frustration, not looking up from her parchment on which she was scribbling furiously.

"What do you mean I am doing it _wrong_?" Draco spat as he lifted his parchment, examining the timeline.

"The raid didn't occur in the morning, it occurred in the evening. And it didn't happen in the year 1843, it happened in 1847." She seethed looking at the written labels on his timeline. She heard Draco mutter something unintelligible as he withdrew his wand and cleared the spaces with a flick, re-writing the material. Hermione grinned to herself.

She continued to delicately draw the timeline (extending it an extra page than necessary), but stopped short as she began to feel a queasy sensation easing its way through her stomach.

"What's wrong with you, Granger? Hanging out with Weasley so much finally got to you has it?" Draco scoffed as he watched Hermione's face begin to flush from color. He scooted back further in his seat away from Hermione in fear that she may vomit on him.

She managed to shoot a grimace at her _partner_ before reaching her hand up to her forehead. Sadly, she couldn't decipher whether her hands were as cold as ice or her forehead on fire. She tucked a curly strand of hair behind her ear in attempts to allow more air to reach her face. The increasing nausea led Hermione to rest her head in the palms of her hands—blocking out the bright lights filtering through the window.

"P-Professor Binns, can I go see Madam Pomfrey? I don't feel too well…" Hermione said shakily; she could feel the small beads of sweat forming at her hairline. She cursed herself for not eating more at breakfast—she had been too distracted. But she also couldn't help but feel relieved at the same time as the sickening feeling continued to rattle in her stomach; had she eaten more, she probably would have already vomited.

"Yes, of course." Professor Binns stared at her intently as if this were possibly the most exciting thing that had happened in his class in years (_which, in fact, it probably was)_. Hermione stood up and hastily placed her parchment inside her book and shoved it into her bag. She wobbled unsteadily as a dizzying sensation clouded her vision. She grabbed onto the nearest thing she could find in an attempt to steady herself, consequently unaware that she had just clutched onto her enemy's wrist.

Draco felt the sheer coldness of her hand on his wrist as he recoiled slightly from the iciness of her touch. He knew at once something was very wrong.

"Granger?" He said uneasily, as all eyes were now on Hermione. Grabbing onto her messenger bag, she attempted to throw it over her shoulder, but it didn't even budge. She felt herself weaken as the numbing spread to her legs. Her head began to pound with a pressure that pulsated throughout her temples.

A white-hot burning began to flood every vein in her body. Hermione felt as though she were being burned alive from the inside out. She obliviously gripped Draco's wrist even tighter as the agonizing invisible flames spread through her. She couldn't even begin to give a name for this sensation she was feeling. All she knew was that if she ever could name a feeling belonging to that of dying—this would be it. _The feeling of when the reaper slowly closes his scythe over one's life—cutting it short._

Hermione felt smothered. Her hopes of recovery faded from her vision as doubt poured in. _Is this what if feels like to die? _She felt tears springing into the corners of her eyes from pain or fear—she did not know.

She gasped for breath as she gave in—allowing the flames to consume her… allowing her vision to deceive her... allowing the darkness to greet her…

Hermione spiraled downward toward the floor as the endless black encased her entire body. She fell back, hitting the unforgiving, stone surface looking much like a fatality… much like a casualty of a deadly poison… much like the victim of a basilisk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have 23 chapters worth of story content I will be adding in succession throughout the week. Stay tuned and please subscribe, review, or leave a Kudos! I would love to know how well my story is received on Ao3. Thanks!


	4. Unfortunate Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione's unsettling dreams set her on a new course of action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to QuantumLife and Becster for commenting! Thanks to everyone for subscribing, bookmarking, and sending Kudos love! Hope ya'll enjoy Chapter 4.
> 
> **Not all Pottermore, Fantastic Beasts, and Cursed Child content is included in this story--this is AU, please be aware.**

_The light beamed down on Hermione's pale form as she jostled herself awake. Feeling dizzy and exhausted, she pushed herself up off the cold, stone floor with her weak arms. They shook as she attempted to steady herself and distribute the weight evenly amongst her only supports. Taking a deep breath, she pushed herself into an upright position—body resting on her knees._

_Behind squinted eyes, Hermione looked up at the light source. The walls spiraled upward endlessly on all sides. Had she not seen the daylight beaming down, she would have assumed that the tower stretched almost infinitely. _

_Slowly easing her aching body onto the balls of her feet, she looked around the room from her placement. Resting at four opposing points stood four indistinguishable, stone statues. They seemed to loom over her as she took in her surroundings. Sucking in an uneasy breath, she stood up—fearing that she may tumble over. After standing erect, she pushed her drained body forward toward one of the statues that rested in the half-darkness. _

_Taking slow steps, she approached the first statue. Hermione looked up to see a stout woman in a large, ballroom style dress smiling down on her. In hand, she held what seemed to be a goblet or tea cup of some sort. The cup was coated with delicate designs and had handles on either side—making it look like almost a small trophy. The woman, therefore, appeared to treat it like one—holding it as though it were nothing less than a delicacy. Hermione's eyes trailed down the woman's fanciful dress. Resting at the hem—peeking out beneath the floor-length dress—was a cheeky, stone badger that seemed to be just as content as the lady above him._

_Turning to her right, Hermione walked in the direction of the next statue down the circle. She came to a halt at the foot of the pedestal and gazed up. A bearded man with mane-like hair stood valiantly, wearing a set of matching robes, gloves, and a cape that seemed to flow out seamlessly behind him in an invisible, unending wind. His eyes were fixated toward the sky, which seemed to almost glow beneath the light._

_The sun shone done—illuminating the whole being of the statue—save for the half light the statue of the smiling woman had been in. Hermione looked at the sword's ruby covered hilt in which his hands rested upon. The sword in itself was magnificent—and although it was carved out of stone, the blade looked just a sharp and dangerous as the real artifact would have been._

_As she moved around toward the right side of the statue, she saw that flanking the heroic figure was a lion. The animal's mane blew in the silent wind as he put one paw forward—looking much like the character beside him. Hermione brushed her hand across the top of the lion's resting paw before departing the statue._

_That statue Hermione came to next was of another woman—but she was much different than her feminine predecessor. This woman stood erect in a long, elegant dress. Her sleeved arms rested down by her sides as she stood with a strong air._

_The woman's gaze was positioned forward with her head held high. Her face was quiet with indifference and her mouth was set in an indistinguishable line—Hermione could not tell whether she had been in the process of beginning to smile or frown. On top of the woman's long head of hair was a banded tiara of some sort crafted in exquisite jewels on the center piece. When Hermione glanced to the right side of the figure, she saw that resting atop the shoulder of the powerful woman was a rather large bird preparing to spread its wings and soar to the sky. The familiar's talons dug slightly into the stone-clothed arm of the woman—resting firmly in an assuring manner. Hermione turned, managing a last glance at the woman standing in between the glowing light and the looming darkness of the tower._

_She made her way into the darker part of the tower to the last statue resting in the shadows. The man stood, his nose pointed up in the air looking down on Hermione with furtive, marble eyes. His face set in a lasting frown. A stone chain hung around his neck, as the two ends met to hold a single pendent in the center of his robed chest. Before Hermione could commence to examining the locket more closely, she was startled as she met protruding fangs from the mouth of a snake._

_Seeming to writhe in the dark figure's ringed hands; the stone serpent's body was coiled around his forearms, as its upper part was set upon haunches ready to strike. Its mouth opened wide appearing to grin behind the pointed daggers as its wild eyes bore into Hermione's. She averted her gaze from the creature, and turned to face the center of the room where the light seemed to beginning to fade from its source._

_With a jolt of fear, she quickly gathered her strength and ran toward the center of the tower. She continuously sprinted forward, but as her heart pounded harder and harder in her chest, she was struck with the realization that she had gotten nowhere—as though was stuck on a conveyor belt running opposite of the track. She then began to hear what sounded like the shattering and cracking of stone. _The tower is collapsing_._

_Hermione reached out a hand into the darkening room._

"No! Stop_," she shouted into the spacious tower, her voice, ringing like church bells, mixed with the continuous breaking of marble._

_As soon as she had cried out, she felt whatever was holding her back release her and she was sent tumbling forward into the now dim lighting. Before landing, Hermione twisted her body so that she would at least land on her back as opposed to head first._

_As she turned, Hermione's eyes grew wide as she saw her pursuer. The stone snake that had once been coiled in the hands of a statue was now soaring through the air—as real as ever, with eyes wild and fangs elongated as it prepared to strike._

_Hermione instinctively pulled her arms up to shield her upper chest and face. But before the serpent met its target, a large beast dived, grasping the snake between snarling jaws, bringing it down to the hard surface of the floor with a loud boom that shook the tower._

_Hermione landed on her back, quickly sitting up wide eyed. The snake hissed menacingly as the ferocious, living lion above it tempted to wrestle it as to get a grip on its head. The body of the serpent seemed to grow in length as it twined its body around the lion like a constrictor. With the lion in its grasp, the snake set up on haunches preparing to strike as the lion released a thunderous roar. Beneath the earsplitting sound that rang throughout the tower, she heard a fury of scuttling._

_The snake moved like lightning as to strike the lion's jugular, but before the fangs reached their objective, a small, furry animal dove in time to take the brunt of the attack, sending its fang-induced body tumbling to the floor. The snake quickly acknowledged the fault and retracted its fangs from the badger who had aided its comrade._

_While the badger had distracted the serpent, the lion had broken free from underneath the grip of the snake using sheer strength. Now having the upper hand, the lion reattempted to pin the snake down as the badger tried to continue its distractions on the writhing creature by feigning attack._

_Hermione finally gained her composure and stood to her feet, fumbling around for her wand through her own robes in a flurry of panic. Between her desperate searching, she felt a waft of wind brush by her hair and the feeling of talons coming to rest on her shoulder firmly. Halting her rummaging, she looked to her left and saw a large raven resting on her shoulder, watching the battle ensue._

_The bird's dark eyes met Hermione's for a moment. It gazed at her intently as though it was trying to see into her mind. Hermione gulped, still shaken in fear. The eagle then tilted its head down solemnly, closing its eyes in an almost apologetic manner. A loud, desperate hiss reverberated through the room, pulling Hermione's eyes back to the situation and the raven out of its still demeanor._

_Hermione turned, her eyes grew wide in shock as the snake was lunging forward toward her now—the lion running after it and the badger trailing behind as quickly as it could with its injuries. The eagle let out a deafening screech as it flew from its perch on Hermione's shoulder and made a beeline for the snake's head._

_The eagle swooped down in midair, striking its target fiercely. The snake recoiled with a hiss as the blood began to run down right side of its face. The bird hovered in air readying its next intentional strike._

_The angry serpent let out a mixture of a shriek and hiss as the anger of the creature became almost tangible. In a last attempt, the snake lunged forward with all its might. Hermione cried out and quickly jumped back. The eagle then attacked, aiming for the left eye as to blind the serpent completely._

_The eagle's beak struck true to the serpent's eye causing the snake to stop its pursue and cry out in agony. The lion then pounced on the snake's body, allowing only the head to thrash slightly._

_The badger then came up to flank the snarling lion as the eagle flew silently—hovering in the air above the trio. The room then grew quiet save for silent hisses from the snake and the heavy breathing of the lion._

_The serpent then began to raise its head ever so slightly, causing the lion to allow a growl to creep up its throat. The snake drunkenly began to sway—blood silently spattering the floor. The creature approached death as its attempts to slither were in vain. In knowing that their once old friend was meeting his demise, the lion, eagle, and badger eased off of the snake so that it may die in the closest thing to peace that could be achieved: without restraint._

_Hermione stood and watched the snake dance around sinuously. As its sways became closer, she took a step back—the clacking of her shoes echoed throughout the tower. The serpent then quickly retracted its body erect on its haunches as soon as her shoes had met stone floor. The creature seemed to grin before standing as tall as possible. In a blaze of guttural growls and screeching from the other animals, the snake opened its mouth wide, shooting venom from the opening in its fangs—striking true to its target._

_Hermione cried out as the toxin hit her eyes—stinging and burning them with invisible fire. She quickly brought her hands to her damaged eyes, and fell back onto the stone floor rolling to and fro with pain._

_The lion then roared maliciously and Hermione heard a spattering sound as claws met flesh. She halted her action of moving immediately when she felt a thud on the ground by her feet and hot liquid pooling around her lower half._

_Shaking, she opened burning eyes only to come face to face with the severed head of the serpent—eyes still streaming with blood from the eagle's assault. Hermione looked into the deadened gaze of the snake before the blazing of her eyes grew worse. Immediately she pressed her palms into her eyes in attempts to relieve the pain._

_Feeling the hot, wet tears run down her face, Hermione pulled her hands away. Glancing through blurry eyes, she looked at her palms. Instead of seeing the glistening of salty water on her hands, she saw slight smears of crimson resting upon her pallid skin. The serpent and her mirrored one another in that aspect._

_She began to cry—mixing salt with iron—as she felt the lion and badger rest on either side of her. She heard the eagle's talons clack on the stone-flagged floor as it swooped down to rest beside her head._

_The eagle began to lament—its singing cutting through the silence of the air in the cold, dark tower. Hermione's silent, pained sobs lessened as she allowed her solemn lullaby to soothe her being into a cataleptic slumber._

* * *

Hermione lay lifeless in the hospital bed of the infirmary as the staff of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry stood over her. Once she was deemed stable, Madam Pomfrey began busying herself by brewing potions and referring to medical texts in order to find some reason behind the young witch's sudden illness.

Minerva McGonagall stood silently with her hand over her mouth, watching the young girl. She exchanged quiet conversation with Professor Sprout—who stood much like the Transfiguration teacher. Albus Dumbledore had removed himself from her bedside after some time to go ponder his thoughts next to the infirmary windows. Madam Pomfrey continued her workings; she had never seen this type of ailment before. The symptoms mimicked that of many viral diseases—mostly those of the muggle world in which she could have easily cured her of—but every remedy she had tried had not lessened the effects nor woken the girl from her deep comatose state.

Severus Snape stood beyond the group of professors, eying her curiously. Having known of prior incidents from Draco, he began to ponder his own suspicions. It was beginning to seem that the prediction of the Dark Lord was correct in whom it was to effect. _Hermione Granger... The proud muggleborn. _He mused at the irony of the situation. She had always been the one to stand up for the equality of Muggleborns, taking pride in who she was and never doubting her abilities despite her differences. Yet, her she was now, the subject of her pride being taken away from her slowly: her own heritage.

Suddenly the two large doors of the infirmary opened, as Harry and Ron ran inside. Snape and McGonagall made quick to block the boys from proceeding any further toward Hermione.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, what do you think you are doing? This isn't a quidditch locker room therefore there isn't any need to barge in acting like a couple of rogue bludgers," Professor Snape spoke coldly.

"We heard what happened, where's Hermione?" Harry demanded as Ron tried to crane his neck over the crowd of spectators.

"Mr. Potter, it would be wise of you to—"

"Severus," Albus came up behind the potions master, resting his hand on his shoulder. "There will be no need," the wizened man smiled reassuringly before turning to the young boys to greet them, "Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley."

"How long has she been like this Professor Dumbledore?" Ron asked clearly worried about the girl he had had a crush on for many years now. Madam Pomfrey bustled by the group carrying a vial of green liquid. The crowd of professors parted enough for Harry and Ron to catch sight of Hermione's sallow form.

"Not very long; she seemed to have fainted in History of Magic class. Mr. Malfoy said that she looked very sickly before she lost consciousness. He acted considerably quickly and took the initiative to rush her up to Madam Pomfrey."

"Malfoy?" Ron asked incredulously, as Harry looked on at the old man in confusion.

Harry knew that Draco Malfoy never did things out of the kindness of his own heart. He made a promise to find out what Malfoy was up to before turning his attention back to the Headmaster. Dumbledore approached Hermione's bedside, beckoning for Harry and Ron to join him.

Cautiously, they approached her ashen body. Harry allowed his hand to rest atop hers. The coincidence that something like this had occurred once again was daunting. Ron and Harry stood over their silenced best friend, not knowing what was to come… It reminded them too much of when she was petrified by the baslisk in their second year.

"Will she be alright, Professor?" Ron asked, tearing his gaze away from Hermione momentarily.

"I do think that Miss Granger will make a full recovery. For now, Madam Pomfrey has given her a draught to help her rest so that she will not wake up late into the night with complications or side effects."

By now, many of the teachers had left the infirmary to return to their classes and relieve the prefects of their current duties of keeping watch over the other students. Snape and McGonagall stood off to the side talking and occasionally glancing in their direction.

"What is wrong with her?" Harry asked as he set on the edge of the bed opposite of Hermione.

"I wish I had an answer myself, but I know very little. The only thing we can do now is to wait for Miss Granger to wake up." Dumbledore looked at the girl who lay in the bed who seemed to grow more and more lifeless by the minute. He wished not to tell the boys false information—for he _did_ know much about the ordeal—but under these circumstances… he could not. "For now though, I think it would be wise of you to go back to class. You may come and visit Miss Granger once you have finished your classes for the day."

Harry and Ron were very reluctant to leave Hermione; they did not know how long it would be until she would wake up. After a few prolonged moments, Harry eventually nodded as he treaded out of the hospital wing, Ron followed in his wake, slightly fuming from unanswered questions.

Professor Dumbledore moved closer to the bed, studying Hermione, as though he were waiting for her to wake miraculously. He stared at her intently, and then moved his hand to the inside of her icy wrist only to feel a series of shallow pulses.

Turning away from her, Dumbledore reassumed his position near the infirmary window that looked down over the courtyard. He had not anticipated the prophecy to enact itself so quickly. What a fool he had been for thinking that he could bide time to perhaps figure out a solution as to stop the prophecy from happening.

Hermione, a noble being with a bright future was now being succumbed to the inevitable, unfortunate fate that happened to be dealt to her. She was no longer a muggleborn Gryffindor with ambitions beyond what others deemed her capable of, but instead, she was now a bond to this wretched war plaguing every family, friend, and foe.

Dumbledore knew that once Voldemort found out of the prophecy and what has happened, she would no longer be safe. Not even the stronghold that was Hogwarts could keep her protected forever. Voldemort would come looking for her—if not he, himself, then by means of double agents and other dastardly approaches.

_One week. _He had one week at best before Voldemort would discover of the turn of events. The abilities Hermione would be granted upon waking up would be his first target to uncover. Voldemort may be the most reckless dark wizard of all time—but he was not a fool. Dumbledore knew he would approach this situation with nothing less than strategic planning and deep intention to gain what he required: Hermion Granger.

The only way Dumbledore could protect her—and many others—from the wrath that was sure to come, would be to stop the problem at its source. He knew that if Voldemort managed to obtain Hermione, he could easily use the Imperius curse on her to do his bidding—as he has done many times before.

Dumbledore looked down on the empty courtyard which was overcast by gray clouds. Though summer was now just coming to its end, the world never looked colder than it had now. He stroked his beard slightly, pondering his thoughts.

_The only way to stop the problem would be at its source. The only way to prevent the source would be at the beginning._ _The only way to reach the beginning…_ Dumbledore then stood erect. He knew what must be done. Though the odds and the potential danger stacked high, they stood no taller than that of what was to come if he took no action.

Allowing one last glance at the bushy-haired Gryffindor, he made his decision. He had no doubt in her intelligence, he had faith in her abilities as a witch, and he had confidence in her as a being. He knew that if anyone would be fit best for this job, it would be her.

He mourned silently to himself discerning that everything she has ever known was about to change. Long gone were her days of childlike innocence and evenings of trying to keep her two closest friends out of trouble. Long gone were the times of going home for the holidays and the nights of peaceful sleep. Hermione would know these things no more. For Albus Dumbledore had made his decision—the only decision.

The weary Headmaster then turned from the window and walked out of the infirmary silently leaving his two colleagues to furrow their brows and exchange glances of confusion. He had to prepare, there wasn't any more time he could waste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have 23 chapters worth of story content I will be adding in succession throughout the week. Stay tuned and please review or leave a Kudos! I would love to know how well my story is received on Ao3!


	5. A Headmaster Has His Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Ron try to help. Hermione awakens and is different than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters are going live today! Stay tuned. :)
> 
> **Not all Pottermore, Fantastic Beasts, and Cursed Child content is included in this story--this is AU, please be kind and aware that there may be some information not included as this portion was pre-content release.**

The first day of classes at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry sped by in a flurry of emotions, confusion, and questions. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley remained quiet and secluded, despite the many glances and outright questions they received. They were immensely troubled by their best friend, Hermione Granger's, sudden struck illness. Moreover, they were becoming annoyed by the nosey students.

Word had gotten around faster than a snitch set loose on a quidditch pitch. By the second class of the day, nearly all of Hogwarts had received some word or rumor of the fallen, young Gryffindor girl. Harry and Ron had to continuously snub a gossipy Lavender Brown, flanked by the Patil sisters. They also had to work diligently to evade Colin Creevey, who had immediately fallen into a reporter-like state the moment he had caught tail wind of the events.

Somehow, the two Gryffindor boys managed to trudge through the day and focus just enough to keep their hawk-eyed potion's master at bay. As soon as the day had come to an end and the Great Hall dispatched the students from their dining hour, Harry and Ron made a bee-line for the infirmary. They would have visited sooner, but quidditch tryouts would take up their afternoons from now until winter.

The boys quietly entered the solemn infirmary room; Hermione was still the only patient present in the sanction. Madam Pomfrey stood by Hermione's bed, her hand pressed to the girl's pallid flesh. She turned and faced the two Gryffindors with a nod.

"Don't stay too long now, Miss Granger needs her rest and I am very sure you have your own studies to tend to," Madam Pomfrey said chidingly before walking off into her office and shutting the door.

Harry and Ron silently rushed to Hermione's bedside, both taking a seat on either side of her at the foot of the bed. Harry reached for her hand, clasping it in his; her fingers were still freezing. Ron seemed torn between holding her hand, and not getting too close. Awkwardly, he slowly reached out his sweaty palm and held her fingers lightly.

"How long do you suppose it'll be before she wakes up?" Ron asked, clearing his throat and trying not to allow the blush to creep up further from his neck.

"I don't know… I am hoping soon, though. Don't you think it's weird?" Harry asked, turning to Ron with a puzzled face.

"What do you mean?" Ron hadn't yet put the pieces together.

"The Head Prefect positions changing, the new Ground Prefect positions, the Prophecy, Hermione getting sick, Malfoy being _helpful—_and Dumbledore wasn't even in the Great Hall for dinner tonight. I don't know what it is, Ron, but something just isn't right." Harry spoke with his eyebrows furrowed in thought and rising suspicions.

"Now that you mention it, I _didn't _see Dumbledore at dinner—come to think of it, I haven't seen him since this morning when we first came to see Hermione. What do you think it means?"

Harry's brows furrowed even closer together as he allowed his thoughts to consume him. _Whatever _is _going on, I have feeling that Dumbledore knows, but isn't telling us._

Harry knew how secretive Dumbledore could be—not to mention how easily he could keep those secrets hidden: the Headmaster's face and voice—which would often be dead giveaways of a normal person—were hardly ever readable. He could recall his previous years spent at Hogwarts. Many times before he had been subject to being let in on some of his mentor's secrets, but this was different. Harry had a feeling that Dumbledore wouldn't voluntarily tell them what was going on. _If that's the case, then we'll just have to find out for ourselves._

Quickly standing up, Harry released Hermione's hand abruptly and stared out her window into the darkening courtyard. "Come on, Ron."

"Harry? What is it?" Ron eased up off the bed with a look of worry and confusion.

"We need to get to the bottom of things. Dumbledore knows something we don't. We have to find out what it is!" Harry exclaimed. Ron nodded stiffly, taking one last glance at Hermione before letting her hand slip from his and hit the white sheets.

The two boys immediately gained a fast paced step and nearly sprinted for the door. As they reached the exit, Madam Pomfrey emerged from her office. She immediately became startled, clasping her hand to her chest as she stared wide-eyed at the two running out the door.

"My word…" Madam Pomfrey said under her breath as she looked out the door at Harry and Ron sprinting around the corner and out of sight. She moved to shut the door left ajar and went back to tend to her work once more.

Harry and Ron rounded the corner speedily—the thought of running into someone was in the back of their minds. They needed to see Dumbledore _now_ and nothing was going to stand in their way, not even—

Harry slammed into a body as he rounded the corner, causing Ron to slam into his back and send the three beings tumbling to the cobblestone floor.

"Ow!"

"Hey, watch it!"

"Gerroff me!"

The boys finally pulled themselves out of the mess of tangled limbs, leaving the victim on the ground free to move. Resituating his glasses upon his nose, Harry looked down to apologize and help up the stranger.

Malfoy sneered from his place on the ground and stood up at once brushing off his robes, disgusted of who had the run in with.

"Oh, Malfoy, it's just you," Ron said lightly with a shrug of his shoulders, suddenly uncaring of who they had just plowed into. Draco's sneer etched even deeper into his face.

"How about you two watch where the bloody hell you're going. I have already gotten enough trouble out of your little Mudblood, I don't need you two adding to my problems," Draco said heatedly.

"What are you talking about, Malfoy? It was _your _doing in taking her to the infirmary," Harry retorted back, a deep frown set into his face. They were already losing time to get to speak with Dumbledore before curfew fell.

"I don't have to explain _anything_ to you, Potter. I have other business to tend to," Draco spat, ready to rid himself of his current nuisances.

"You'll bloody well _think_ you don't have any explaining to do," Ron said through clenched teeth as he took a step forward, rolling up the sleeves on his jumper. Draco took a hesitant step back. He knew the red head's wand skills weren't much to be applauded over, but he was much larger than Draco in stature, and everyone knew that the Weasleys could throw one hell of a punch when angered enough.

"Ron—come on," Harry spoke up, grabbing his friend by the arm and tugging him back slightly. Ron turned at looked at Harry in confusion.

"Harry, this bastard deserves—" Ron began hotly.

"We can't waste anymore time," Harry shot a glare at the Slytherin. "Let's go."

Ron reluctantly nodded before shooting daggers at the Malfoy heir. He was far from finished with him, and Draco knew it as well. The frustrated Gryffindors then rushed past Draco in a flurry of hushed conversation. Draco stood and watched as the two rounded the next corner toward the moving staircase.

Looking around the deserted hallway, Draco then turned down the corridor that Ron and Harry had just left from. Ever so quietly, he opened the doors to the infirmary and closed them back—allowing himself the courtesy of a small _visit._

Ron and Harry had luckily reached Dumbledore's office without any further obstacles. The two stood outside the entry way of the eagle statue.

"What do you suppose the password is?" Ron turned to Harry, still slightly breathless from their sprints.

"Dumbledore has a habit of changing passwords constantly," Harry said as he stood, looking around—seemingly to be hoping for the answer to pop out of thin air. Before Harry could utter a guess, he saw McGonagall striding down the hall.

"Professor McGonagall!" Harry spoke loudly, his voice ringing in the halls. Professor McGonagall quickly detoured from her path, approaching the two bystanders.

"What is it Mr. Potter? Is it so urgent that you must shout like a banshee through the corridors?" McGonagall chided calmly, looking around to see if anything had been disturbed from his voluminous outburst.

"We need to speak to Professor Dumbledore immediately." Harry said quickly.

"It's extremely important," Ron added in, taking a step forward to back his best friend up.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, if it is concerning Miss Granger, then it'll have to wait. The Headmaster has busied himself a great deal to find out the cause of Miss Granger's sudden illness, so I ask that you please leave and comeback later when it will be more convenient for—"

"We know the reason is because of the prophecy!" Harry spoke boldly of their newfound conclusion. Neither of the two Gryffindors were sure of this theory, but everything seemed to be pointing in that direction, serving as the only lead they had so far.

McGonagall's nose flared out ferociously as her lips thinned beyond what the two thought possible. "Mr. Potter, Miss Granger may have graced you kindly with that information, but matters are serious. Practically screaming it from the rooftops will do nothing more than worsen Miss Ganger's situation," McGonagall said under and imperative, hushed tone.

"But Professor, something just isn't _right._ We want to know what's wrong with Hermione, please. Maybe we could help Dumbledore somehow," Ron tried to reason with the old witch.

Professor McGonagall tilted her head down slightly, releasing an elongated sigh, "Mr. Weasley, anything that can be done now is beyond our help. The Headmaster is working diligently to uncover remains to be answered. The best we can do is allow him the time to sort these manners out; all we can do is have patience and wait to see what happens."

Ron and Harry nodded in defeat. They both knew that their chances of getting to speak with Dumbledore were slim—but they seemed to grow even thinner by the minute. If Dumbledore hadn't yet come up with a solution, then things were even worse than what Harry could've imagined. McGonagall then nodded to the boys before turning to continue on her way.

"Professor," Harry called out, "if there is anything we can do to help…"

"I will, Potter, I will," McGonagall, smiled slightly in acknowledgement of his request and continued on her way. Even during the times when he had no choice but to wait for answers, Harry Potter still remained ever so persistent. This trait, though, had been something that his mentors continued to greatly admire: his will to keep fighting despite the odds that continued to stack against him.

Minerva McGonagall had known Hermione Granger was a quick-witted, ready student since the first time she had stepped foot into the Transfiguration classroom. The professor had always greatly admired the girl's ambition to learn and succeed—never questioning her decisions. But now, with the way things of turned—and with what Dumbledore had confided into her before dinner—she began to question Hermione's will power.

She knew of Hermione's kindness towards other students and her valiant acts against the dark forces in her previous years, but would she still be able to stand for everything she has believed in, even now? Even if it meant being thrown head first into the ever-growing darkness that threatened to pull them all under? Over her many years at Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall had seen many strong, upstanding students brought to their knees by lust for power and poor decisions.

The notion that Hermione Granger would give into such whims so easily would make any professor at Hogwarts laugh their way out of their classrooms, but when looking pure evil in the face, what choices could she make? The strong-headed Gryffindor wasn't one to fall on her knees in defeat, but what could she do when faced with imminent death? What _would_ she do? Only time could tell.

Minerva McGonagall would not lose faith in the muggle-born girl. _As long as she still has the will to fight, she _will_ succeed. _With her worries beginning to float from her mind, the Transfiguration professor made headway for her quarters to turn in early. The week ahead was sure to be a daunting one.

The night passed by just as quickly as the previous day, and soon the sun was shining down on the grounds of Hogwarts. The Great Lake glittered beneath the soft rays of the early morning. The birds chirped, greeting the day.

A small canary sang a light-hearted tune as it fluttered through the air weightlessly. The tiny bird passed the quidditch pitch, weaving around the towers of the castle. Upon soaring over the courtyard, the young creature perched itself on the sill of the infirmary window, pecking slightly at the glass. The bird watched as the figure in the bed beside the window slowly began to jostle in its slumber.

The light shining into the infirmary was amplified by the thick, glass window, causing the blinding rays to beat down onto Hermione's lidded eyes. With a slight groan, she began to move—the numbing feeling slowly fading from her body. Her ears perked slightly when she heard the clacking of shoes hitting the floor as they neared her bed. The figure placed something on the stand beside her bed. Hermione's eyes fluttered open.

Her sensitive eyes followed the blurry figure bustling about until they adjusted, revealing Madam Pomfrey who was readying medication at Hermione's bedside. The medical witch picked up two glass vials and held them to the light, examining their contents for the right measurement. Upon hearing the sheets rustle beside her, Madam Pomfrey excitedly turned her attention to her only patient.

"It's about time, Miss Granger, we were beginning to think—" Madam Pomfrey dropped the two vials she had in hand—allowing them to crash to the floor, spilling the contents. Her hands immediately flew to cover her mouth as a shocked expression flashed across her face for a moment. Hermione made quick work of pushing her strengthening body up to sit up straighter out of concern. She winced slightly from the work pressing on her stiff muscles.

Madam Pomfrey quickly regained her composure, leaning down to aid Hermione by fluffing her pillows and fixing her crooked sheets. She gently pushed back down on Hermione's shoulder to keep her from rising from the bed even further.

"Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione questioned worriedly.

"Oh, it's nothing, dear. Don't you worry," Madam Pomfrey spoke with a smile, "Now, lie back and relax, I'll be right back." Hermione watched in confusion as the medic walked faster than normal out of the infirmary doors—leaving her alone.

Hermione shoved the thin bedding off of her body and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Being careful to avoid the spilt medicine and broken glass, she slowly stood up and turned to look out her window.

She saw a small canary that was perched on the window sill— appearing to have been watching the scene unfold. She smiled slightly; canaries had always been one of her favorite birds to watch. Seeing a canary left her surprised, though. Canaries were birds that were usually always domesticated—doomed to a small cage in a confined room. Seeing one in the wild was unheard of.

Hermione quickly retrained her thoughts and noticed by the light settling upon the courtyard that it must be the early morning. She ran a still stiff hand through her mess of curls—snagging knots along the way. _If my looks were enough to frighten Madam Pomfrey, then I am afraid to see how bad my bed head truly is. _She then made her way toward the infirmary bathrooms—her bare feet hitting the cold floor. She pushed open the door to the girls' restroom and immediately made her way to the sink.

She turned on the tap on cold, and cupped her hands to gather the water. She splashed her face a few times to help waken her senses. After she thought her duties to be a success, she blindly searched for a fresh, clean towel out of the cupboard standing beside the amenities. She quickly wiped the water from her face and looked up into the mirror.

What greeted Hermione next was something that shook her to her core. Her hand flew over her mouth as a slight gasp escaped her lips. She now knew why Madam Pomfrey had looked at her in shock. She now knew why she had turned tail and left.

The eyes that met her gaze in the mirror were not those of which she knew. Looking back at her were not the familiar dark, warm brown eyes she had learned to love. For now staring back at her were two icy, gray irises that were not her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot will start to pickup in the next chapter or so. Thanks to everyone who has supported my posting of this story so far on AO3. Stay tuned and please subscribe, review, or leave a Kudos! :)


	6. The Order's Only Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time is running out. The Order of the Phoenix makes a choice. Hermione prepares herself for what's to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Not all Pottermore, Fantastic Beasts, and Cursed Child content is included in this story--this is AU, please be aware.**

Hermione stood quietly, facing the mirror. The only sound that reverberated through the small bathroom was the sounds of dripping water from the leaky faucet. Her hands were tightly gripping the edge of the sink's bowl—shaking.

The light gray irises of the eyes in the mirror before her stared back cold and desolate; unlike her dark eyes that had once been filled with wonderment, warmth, and understanding, they now looked back at her like an endless sky of rolling rain clouds.

Hermione's thoughts immediately drifted to the prophecy. _Is this the first sign?_ She was completely at a loss; she hadn't even had the mere _chance_ to speak with Dumbledore—let alone put his theories to the test. How planned to test them, she did not know, but she knew that Dumbledore would've left no stone unturned that he had an answer to.

Her mind quickly drifted to Harry and Ron. Had they came and visited? Did they even know what was going on? She knew how to get her answers efficiently. Releasing her shaken grip from the sink and averting her eyes from the mirror, she rushed out of the bathroom and to the trunk at the foot of her hospital bed. She sprinted to the bathroom, removed her clothes, and changed in record time.

With her right shoe half on, and her stockings bunching at her ankle, she half walk, half hopped to Madam Pomfrey's office door.

"Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione knocked quietly on the door that had been left slightly ajar. The small amount of force powering her knocks caused the door to open. Hermione stuck her head into the witch's sanctum and called out more loudly, "Madam Pomfrey?"

Upon being greeted with silence once more, Hermione pushed open the door further, revealing a cozy room with countless bookshelves, a bed and closet, beakers and vials lining the opposite wall, and a desk strewn with papers, open books, and writing materials. She approached the medic witch's desk. A small note card rested beside the numerous open books on the table. Hermione lifted the minute piece of parchment.

_Fever, nauseated, freezing hands and feet, fainting, comatose-like state, shallow heart beats and breaths, indistinct whispering. _Hermione read the note card once more. She recognized the first few word sets as her own symptoms from the previous days. Her eyes drifted to the books resting on the desk. Hermione saw a few diseases—both muggle and magical—circled inside. But upon reading a few of the symptoms listed beside them, she now understood Madam Pomfrey's dilemma: none of the illnesses seemed to match up—even after the choices appeared to have been narrowed down.

Hermione's attention immediately snapped back to reality. She searched over the desk quickly until her eyes found a spare piece of parchment. Dipping the quill once more, Hermione scribbled down a quick note: _Feeling fine. __Went to see Professor Dumbledore. –Hermione Granger. _She sat the paper back on the table in plain sight and left the room—grabbing her wand and bag beside her bed before bolting out of the infirmary doors.

Hermione rounded the corner to Dumbledore's office—arriving in only mere minutes. Thankfully classes had been in session, therefore no students crowded the corridors and no teachers were wandering about to catch her running through the halls.

She stepped inside the awaiting wings of the stone creature guarding Dumbledore's office. The head prefects and ground prefects thankfully knew the password, thus Hermione spoke the word, "Butterscotch," and allowed the stairs to ascend her to his office door.

Hermione's heart thudded as she readied her fist near the door to knock, but before her hand could make contact with the wood, the door flew open on its own accord, revealing an exasperated Madam Pomfrey and a Dumbledore who inclined his head to her with a smile.

Madam Pomfrey's mouth closed as her eyes flitted to the guest entering the room. She was surprised as none other than Hermione Granger standing in the arch of the doorway. The medic witch bustled toward the stubborn Gryffindor. "Miss Granger, dear, you needn't be out of bed! You need your rest and fluids," Madam Pomfrey chastised as she rested her hand on the girl's forehead.

Hermione smiled sheepishly as she moved the witch's hand away as politely as possible. "Thank you for your concern, Madam Pomfrey, but I feel much better," Hermione spoke in an understanding tone as to not offend the medic. Madam Pomfrey's brows knitted together, but she removed her hand and took a step back nonetheless. Turning her body slightly towards the wizard before her, she spoke in a confident tone. "I was hoping that I may be able to speak with Headmaster Dumbledore."

"It's quite alright, Poppy. After Miss Granger and I speak, I will be sure to send her down to the infirmary for a once over before sending her on her way," Dumbledore said with a warm smile, helping to calm down the worried witch. Madam Pomfrey's worry slightly eased away from her face before nodding and exiting Dumbledore's office, shutting the door, and descending the stairs.

Hermione turned back to the wizard who now stood behind his desk; the smile all but vanished from his face and replaced with a look of deep contemplation. He then motioned with an outstretched arm for her to take a seat opposite him.

Hermione took her seat, her gaze fixated on the floor. She knew Dumbledore had already heard all there is to know from a shocked—if not frightened—Madam Pomfrey, but she was now beginning to find it difficult to look him in the eye. She was the same Hermione in mind and spirit, yes, but she knew deep down that something wasn't right. She could feel it in her very being.

"Miss Granger," the Headmaster spoke, addressing her. Hermione's head quickly snapped up to the Professor. "Would you like a lemon drop?" In his hand he extended a candy dish of sweets out to her with a comforting smile. Her tension eased as she took a deep breath.

"No thank you, sir," Hermione spoke strongly, feeling slightly better about the situation—if only for a moment. Dumbledore nodded, then rose from his seat and began pacing about the room.

"Miss Granger, if I may ask, can you recall what happened before you lost consciousness in Professor Binns' classroom?" Dumbledore questioned as he studied the numerous magical trinkets that rested on a table beside the window of his office.

Hermione furrowed her brow, trying to relive the moment in her mind. She could not recall the faces, the voices, or the placement. All that was left with her were the feelings. "I don't remember much… but, I recall feeling queasy and suddenly very ill…" her brows furrowed even further as she continued. "I remember the feeling of a burning sensation… almost as though an unimaginable coldness struck within my body… I felt like I was being burned alive…

"My head begun to ache and my vision blurred, then… I'm sorry sir, that's all I remember about what happened in the classroom," Hermione turned her head down apologetically for not being about to recall the situation as clearly as what she thought she would have been able to.

"It's alright, Miss Granger. Every bit of information—especially from firsthand accounts—helps," He said warmly. "Now, concerning the physical change you have experienced recently… When you awoke, did you feel any different? Did your visionary aspects change?"

"When I woke up, I felt slightly groggy and achy, but no different than I would've if I had had the muggle common cold. But, other than that, I felt no different whatsoever…"

Dumbledore moved away from the trinkets and crossed his office to the opposite side of the room that held numerous tomes on dark bookshelves. He studied them, though Hermione doubted he was looking for anything in particular. For a few moments the wizard seemed to be lost in thought, but then he spoke once more.

"Did you dream anything while you were unconscious, Miss Granger?"

Unlike the events that occurred leading up to her comatose state, Hermione remembered the occurrences in the tower almost as though they were actual memories and experiences rather than fleeting moments in the dream realm. She remembered standing before the grand, marble statues in the tower. She remembered the creatures that were with them on their pedestals: their familiars, as it were. Hermione closed her eyes, searching the recesses of her mind even further—delving deeper into the almost too-real scenario.

The scenes flashed before Hermione's eyes in a flurry of blurred emotion. She saw an eagle flying throughout the tower, she heard the lion roaring in all its glory, she saw the badger standing its ground to help his friends, but then all those images quickly faded as her mind was shrouded in darkness and a serpent lunged out from the shadow ready to strike.

Hermione's eyes shot open quickly and she jumped, shaken by the lifelike recollection she had of her dream.

"Miss Granger, are you alright?" Dumbledore questioned from his seat across from her at his desk. _When did he get there?_

"Yes, just thinking, sir, that's all," Hermione dismissed his question lamely. She could tell Dumbledore did not believe it for a moment, but he did not press the issue further. Hermione then took this as her cue to continue.

"I remember being in a tower. The only light came from the opening in the very top. There were four statues in the room… I think they were of the founders of Hogwarts. Hufflepuff held her cup, Gryffindor his sword, Ravenclaw her diadem, and Slytherin his locket. On their pedestals, were their animal counterparts… Gryffindor's statue was illuminated by the light, while Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were in the half light… Slytherin was in the darkest corner of the tower..." Hermione paused momentarily recalling the situation thoroughly.

"Then what happened, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked, his hands clasped together and his eyes intently resting on her.

Hermione remembered exactly what happened. The snake coiled in Slytherin's hands came to life with every intention of striking her, but then the other marbled creatures came to her aid. In the end, the snake's cunning and deceiving nature grasped the upper hand of the situation, spitting its venom in her eyes and leaving her to suffer on the floor of the tower. Although she recalled the circumstances down to the very emotion, something in her kept her quiet—told her to keep mum and not speak of what had occurred.

"I... That's all I can recall. The next thing I remember is waking up in the infirmary this morning to Madam Pomfrey." Hermione felt awful for not telling the wizened elder the whole story, but for whatever reason, she knew that it was something that she must keep to herself.

Dumbledore nodded in understanding—whether he truly did or not, she couldn't tell. "Miss Granger, how familiar are you with the methods of time travel?" Dumbledore rose, stroking his beard and pacing his study once more.

"I have read numerous books about the art itself, the many methods, and circumstantial procedures… then I had experience my third year using the time turner for class and to help Sirius Black. Why do you ask, Professor?" Hermione's brows knitted together. _Why would he be asking about time travel—especially at this moment?_

"I have deeply thought about the current situation—as well as discussed it with a few of my colleagues. The prophecy in itself is vague and remains to be completely unveiled, but after recent events, we have strong belief that it is in fact you who it refers to, Miss Granger.

"Because of this, we have concluded that Voldemort must know as well. His resources and followers are just as great and strategic as our very own in the Order—if not, then more so, perhaps. Voldemort will not simply sit by and allow these events to pass without taking action. Miss Granger, it has come to our attention that you have one week at most before he begins searching for you. Whether it be to seek your assistance or your power remains to be seen, but nonetheless, the estimated time we have is very little and requires immediate action."

Hermione tried to absorb everything he had just said. _Voldemort… is going to come for me?_ She was shaken to her core by the very thought of being the immediate target of the Dark Lord. She began to empathize with Harry. The feeling of being an alienated target, fearing for your life and the lives of those around you, having nowhere to hide—it was all too real. _How had Harry ever find the time to enjoy life and its simple pleasures knowing he was always going to be the prey of the most dangerous predator to have ever lived?_ Hermione couldn't fathom it.

"But Professor Dumbledore, what about Hogwarts? Isn't its stronghold and magical wards enough to protect us from the outlying dark forces?" Hermione asked, exasperated at the thought of Hogwarts falling on bended knee beneath the Dark Lord's whim.

"Hogwarts' magical wards are very strong and have withheld many attempts at outsiders breeching its barriers, but with the power the Voldemort and his Death Eaters have obtained, we truly cannot be certain that they will last against a mass assault. This brings me back to Time Travel.

"You know as well as anyone the difference time traveling can make—especially when saving the life of the innocent. Although it can be a tricky business, when one approaches with good reason and cautious action the results can prove most beneficial."

Dumbledore crossed his room to a wooden armoire with many drawers below the two, large doors. Bending slightly, he opened the first drawer to the right and removed a small object and placed it in the pocket of his robes. He began to make his way back to his seat at large wooden desk.

"Although underage time travel is forbidden by law of the Ministry of Magic, times are dire and we haven't much choice left," Dumbledore sighed as he sat down and pulled the object out of his robes, setting it on the desk. "Do you know what this is, Miss Granger?"

Hermione closely studied the medallion-like object connected to a chain resting on the Headmaster's desk. The main part of the necklace appeared to be a time turner. Hermione cautiously lifted it up to her eye level, rotating the item to study it more closely. It very much resembled the time turner she used her third year, but instead of golden sand on the inside of the hourglass, the sand was silver.

"It looks very similar to the time turning I used my third year, but the sand is different… I have never read about this type of turner before." Hermione placed the necklace back on the desk.

"I would wager you haven't," Dumbledore said a matter-of-factly, "few of these exist. They were originally constructed by the Ministry in its early years. Memory erasing charms were still in the process of being perfected and voted in, thus, when muggles would experience magical encounters, instead of erasing the mind, the Ministry workers would use these to travel and prevent the incident from occurring."

"But couldn't regular time turners be used for events such as those? Why need particularly different ones?"

"Unlike the normal time turners, this particular type does not leave behind your duplicate while you travel. When you travel to a certain point in time, your living memory does not diminish, but instead travels along with you. This helped to prevent the fear of lost sanity if you accidentally run into your counterpart. Alongside that, these time turners prove to be more potent in the _length_of time that can be traveled—travel of up to a century has even been recorded."

"If these types of turners are so efficient, then why did the Ministry put them out of use?"

"Although time traveling with these specific turners can stretch over many years, it is not recommended. If one stays far enough in time for too long, the living memory that traveled with you begins to diminish and ultimately fade away. When you return to the time you were once accustomed to, the memories others held of you will have ceased. Even though you are once more in you proper time, it would be as though you never existed."

Hermione's eyes widened slightly at the thought of returning to those she held most dear to her only to have been forgotten. "Professor… why are you telling me all of this?" Hermione questioned uneasily.

"After discussing recent events and possible actions that could be taken with the Order of the Phoenix members, we have concluded that this decision is best… We would like for you to travel back to Tom Riddle's era and prevent him from creating the horcruxes."

Hermione's eyes grew wide at what he had just requested of her. "Professor, why me? How will I accomplish that? What if I can't?" Hermione began questioning in a flurry of panic. Dumbledore looked at her through weary eyes filled with pain. He did not wish this upon her—or anyone else—but he had little choice.

"Miss Granger, I know this is quite sudden to ask of you and it is very difficult to comprehend, but I have complete faith in you. Your magical ability and widened knowledge of both of the wizarding and muggle worlds even exceed that of many of your superiors. Your compassion knows no bounds; you are strong in spirit and steady in mind. Your wit can easily get you out of dangerous situations and your will to learn makes your understanding of things beyond what others cannot even begin to comprehend.

"By taking this time turner, you will travel to Tom Riddle's sixth year—before the summer of his first horcrux creation. Stop him by any means possible. But, you must stay inconspicuous and be careful. He may be young, but he is still the potential dark wizard he is today. Be cautious and weary of your actions and whom you trust."

"What if… I can't stop him, Professor? What then?" Hermione asked worriedly.

"Then I am afraid that I will have to request the worst. You must end his life, Miss Granger. I know it is a lot to ask… but we have no other choice. Please consider this option," Dumbledore look pained as he spoke this to her. He knew Hermione was pure in heart and spirit. Asking her to kill was almost like requesting Harry to turn himself over to the Dark Lord willingly: both were ludicrous, but he knew that if it was requested of them to save their people… they would do so.

"But what about the time stream? Won't it be effected drastically?"

"Of course it will; those who were never meant to live shall live, Pettigrew never would have betrayed the Potters, and Neville's parents would never have been susceptible to the insanity of the Cruciatus curse. There will be some consequences, however. The different course of life may change an individual's personality or who they grew to know," Dumbledore stated.

Hermione's brow knitted together with worry. Would Harry having his parents back mean that the possibility that she would never become friends with him or Ron exist? Was losing a friendship and all of its memories worse than saving those who made your life bearable and helped give it meaning? Was it worth it to risk coming home to familiar faces who don't know her at the cost of saving them and their families? She cradled herself slightly. _Of course it is, _she tried telling herself, but she knew deep down she didn't feel that way. She knew it was selfish, but what _if_ Ron and Harry didn't recognize her. What if they had moved on, never knew each other, and had _changed__? _After all, if it weren't for the troll in the dungeon that Halloween night _because _of Voldemort, Ron, Harry, and her would have never became friends so quickly without question.

Hermione sat silent, lost in thought, for a few moments before turning her head up confidently to the Headmaster. "I will do it," Hermione spoke strongly. "How long will I have before I leave?"

"A week at the most, Miss Granger. Take this time to ready yourself for what is to come," Dumbledore rested his eyes as he spoke.

"When I travel… how long will I have before my—the future me… begins to fade?" Hermione gulped uneasily.

"It varies on the length of time travel often, but you will have about 2 to 3 years before your living memory begins to fall into critical danger."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. She had a little more time than she had previously thought, but spending up to 3 years in another time not her own without those dear to her tore at her heart.

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said as she rose from her seat.

"Miss Granger, I ask that you do not speak to Mr. Potter or Mr. Weasley about the ordeal. It would be better to remain as subtle as possible."

"Yes, sir." Hermione turned and left Dumbledore's office feeling empty and distraught. She feared what was to come, but she had a duty to those around her and she would protect them in any means possible.

Dumbledore watched the girl leave quietly. It had reminded him too much of his discussions with Harry about his own prophecy in their fifth year. Though, he knew his faith wasn't misplaced. Hermione was strong and he had always expected great things from her. He now had his proof that great things were to come for certain—he just hoped that they would be for the greater good and not corrupted by the young dark wizard she would soon face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot will start to pickup in the next chapter or so. Thanks to everyone who has supported my posting of this story so far on AO3. Stay tuned and please subscribe, review, or leave a Kudos! :)


	7. Into the Rushes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione makes a new acquaintance and journeys to the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am overwhelmed by the number of views, sub, bookmarks, kudos, and comments/reviews I've received! Thank you all SO much! I am happy that many of you are enjoying the story so far. Now, the moment you all have been waiting for: Hermione's journey to the past.I hope you all stick around!
> 
> **Not all Pottermore, Fantastic Beasts, and Cursed Child content is included in this story--this is AU, please be aware.**

Hermione quickly returned to the infirmary for a once over. She felt fine, but she wished not to stress Madam Pomfrey any further and complied with Dumbledore's request. After the witch medic finished her poking and prodding, Hermione stood back up off of the examining cot and adjusted her robes.

"It warms my heart to see you well so soon, Miss Granger, the staff and your friends were awfully concerned, as was I," the witch spoke as she straightened the sheets on the beds opposite Hermione.

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey. I am very glad as well," Hermione said while retrieving her school bag off the floor.

"I can only imagine what horrid nightmares you were having. They must've of been terrible," Madam Pomfrey's brow was furrowed in sympathy. Hermione halted in her actions after she placed the bag diagonally across her chest on the opposing shoulder.

"What do you mean?" Hermione questioned, confused at her statement.

"You looked to be in such immense pain and worry. You were whispering something over and over, but I couldn't make out what it was. If one hadn't known better, they would've thought you were speaking another language entirely! It must have been quite the frightening dream indeed," the elder spoke in a rush, obliging information as the infirmary doors squeaked open, presenting the room with a new ailing patient. "Now, of you go then! Dinner shouldn't be too far from now. Some solid food and a visit with friends will do you some good."

Hermione stood confused momentarily before quickly sputtering a, "Good day, Madam Pomfrey," and rushing out the door past a young, Ravenclaw student plagued with numerous purple blotches on his skin.

By the time Hermione had reached the Gryffindor common room, cleaned up, and changed into fresh robes, classes were released and lunch time was about to begin. Despite having gone a day without food and her drained energy taking a toll on her, she had no appetite. Her mind kept reeling back to the conversation she had had with Dumbledore.

A week. She had one week left to prepare herself for what was to come. Despite having a marginally decent time to ready herself, Hermione knew she would never be ready to face the fate that awaited her. She may be skilled numerously in knowledge and magical means, but she knew nothing could prepare her emotionally when it came to facing the darkest wizard to have ever lived. Deep down she was aware that Dumbledore knew this as well—but he had little choice. Hermione then erased the foreboding thoughts from her mind—at least for now—and exited the Gryffindor commons.

She kept her head down in hopes to pass by seemingly unnoticeable. She had no desire to stop and give an accounting of her ordeal to anyone. She wanted to find Harry and Ron and explain what little she could to them before the lunch hour ended.

"Hermione? Hermione Granger?" A voice called incredulously across the other end of the hall. Hermione groaned inwardly as the sound of Lavender Brown's voice filled her ears amongst the bustle of students. She decided to keep walking at her already quickened pace—hoping that the gossipy Gryffindor would not follow her.

Her plan worked to no avail when she heard the quick pattering of two pairs of shoes closing in from behind. Hermione shook her head slightly, allowing her frizzed curls to fall around her face—working as a curtain between her eyes and the outside. Hermione sensed the presence of two beings flanking either side of her.

"Hermione! It's so good to see you," she heard Parvati exclaim from her left.

"Definitely! How are you feeling? That _incident_ you had must've been quite the scare for old Professor Binns," Lavender giggled as she bent down trying to get a look at Hermione. Turning her head to the left, Hermione faked a cough—hiding her face from sight.

"It was indeed," Hermione said quickly, slightly increasing the speed of her walk all the while.

"I heard that Draco carried you to the infirmary! Oh, I wish I could've been the one in his arms," Lavender pouted as she envied Hermione momentarily.

"What? What are you talking about? That's just ridiculous…" Hermione excused as her steps faltered slightly. _Had Draco really done such a thing? _She couldn't fathom the proud pureblood just volunteering to carry his enemy up to the infirmary without some other reasoning. Both curiosity and doubt clouded her mind.

"So you don't remember anything?" Lavender asked clearly becoming upset by the lack of information she was receiving. She pulled around and stopped in front of Hermione in hopes to come to a quick confirmation if this was indeed fact. Though Hermione came to a stop, she seemed still lost in thought. Lavender snapped her fingers, "Hello? Earth to Granger?" Unthinkingly, Hermione removed herself from her thoughts and snapped her head up to look at the impatient girl.

Lavender immediately clasped her hands over her mouth and stumbled backwards when she met Hermione's eyes with her own. Mentally cursing herself, Hermione immediately regretted her actions. Though she knew she couldn't hide forever, she wished she would've at least thought to use a charm to disguise the appearance of her eyes. Cursing her stupidity, all she wanted to do was make a quick getaway and speak to Harry and Ron.

"Lavender, what's wrong?" Parvati stepped toward the shaken girl. Turning to look at Hermione, she was soon rendered just as speechless as her counterpart.

"Her— Herm— Hermione?" Lavender squeaked out. Hermione's face remained impassive as she walked on past the two girls—leaving them shocked and confused in her wake.

Hermione already knew what to expect after seeing Madam Pomfrey's reaction in the infirmary, but the situation was getting old very quickly. She did not bother hiding her face as she continued her trek to the Great Hall, for she knew that everyone would know soon enough—thanks to one Lavender Brown.

Throughout the remainder of the evening, Hermione would spend the majority of her time brushing off a horde of nosy students—including the ever present Lavender Brown with Parvati Patil hot on her heels. Luckily the gossipy pair ceased when she entered the Great Hall for dinner and nearly forced entry between Harry and Ron who were already seated at the Gryffindor table. The two girls gave Hermione a smug glare and were forced to retreat to find free seats at the far end of the wooden table.

Harry and Ron were startled by the sudden appearance of their friend, but nonetheless greeted her with relief after being shooed away from the infirmary numerous times.

"How are you feeling?" Harry asked in a hushed voice as he confusedly eyed the students continuously tried to get a glimpse of Hermione.

"Just as what was to be expected: terrible," Hermione said in a normal tone, already feeling frustrated by the undesired attention. She raised her head.

"Bloody hell, Hermione... What happened to your eyes?" Ron's mouth was agape. Harry stared on with eyebrows raised. Hermione groaned.

Hermione whispered a silencing charm around the small area they occupied and began talking quickly and quietly. Though she had not told Dumbledore of the statues coming to life in her dream, she told Harry and Ron in sworn secrecy. She left out the ending detail of the snake striking back at her with its venom, however; the more her thoughts lingered on the coincidental scenario between that of her dream and her eyes, the more shaken she became.

"We were thinking that it could be linked to the prophecy," Harry said giving their deductions.

"I am beginning to wonder the same..." Hermione drifted off in troubled thought.

Ron shook his head as Harry dismissed further prodding. They all turned to listen to Dumbledore's speech as he approached his pedestal at the head of the Great Hall.

"Good evening students! I hope today proved to be just as interesting as the first and will be a sign for many more to come! Now, before we begin, Professor Sprout would like to inform all first years that sneaking into the herbology green house before or after classroom hours is absolutely _not_ permitted. The Higglyffs are yet in full bloom and contact with these plants will cause the recipient to be covered in a purple rash. The cure is most unpleasant, so please avoid breaking these rules.

Now that that has been said, here are a few parting thoughts for your young minds: callused hands stir a potion better than those that are smooth!"

The Great Hall was filled with the mumbling of confused students until the tables filled with that evening's elaborate feast, replaced by the sound of clinging silverware and dishes.

Dinner quickly passed and the tables were cleared. Hermione bade her farewell to her friends as Harry left for the common room and Ron began his prefect castle patrol duties. Hermione pulled her schedule out of her bag; tonight the Head prefects switched duties with the Ground prefects. She would be patrolling the outer portion of the castle along with the Ravenclaw boy, who bore the last name of Arkes.

Wand in hand, she exited through Hogwarts' grand doors to the outside. The cool, fresh September air filled her senses immediately, giving her a feel of serenity. Breathing in deeply, Hermione set forth on her patrols.

Hermione was required to walk two rounds about the castle exterior and the areas surrounding it. After patrolling both the quidditch pitch and castle twice, she headed toward the Great Lake. The Great Lake had always seemed eerie to Hermione—particularly at night. Everyone knew this was the home to a vast variety of creatures—including the giant squid, merpeople, and an abundance of grindylows. Though _Hogwarts: A History _claimed to have every creature living within the depths of the Great Lake on record, Hermione could never brush away the notion that more dark, sinister things lay deep within the relentless darkness of the waters.

After the occurrence in her second year with the basilisk, she had theorized that the Great Lake had a series of underwater caves and passageways that lead to and from the Chamber of Secrets. Although the pipes connecting throughout Hogwarts served as a clear travel way for the basilisk, the creature would need to hunt for food—despite its supposed dormancy for nearly a century. A creature that large in stature could not simply live off the small mice problem that often plagued structures. Her theory supported the idea that the magical beast traveled to and from these tunnels to hunt within the lake; other than this possibility, the food source would not have been efficient enough to sustain the basilisk.

But Hermione's theory was just that—a conjecture of her own aroused suspicion. She had neither evidence, nor the means of which to receive arguable verification that could be presented to doubting scholars. Even though she had no confirmation of her speculations, it still did not put her at ease while walking the Lake's edges during her route.

She walked a safe distance from the bank of the shore. _Just to be safe._ The lake sat silent under the high moon in the sky, making the lake shine with an eerie onyx tone in the night. Hermione kept her wand in hand as she continued her trek.

Hermione kept on her passage along the border of the lake and eventually met her stopping point at the large willow tree. It swayed autumn winds—dancing a waltz that only the beings of the night would know. Hermione pulled her cloak tightly around her as the lake effect winds played around her form. She turned her back on the tree to finish the last of her rounds and head back to the castle, but a small whisper carried on the winds halted her actions.

"_Walk around… walk around… that is all they ever do! Treading the ground with their unsightly feet—shaking the earth like the foundation is endless…" a small voice grumbled on the breeze._

Hermione's blood ran cold. She questioned if an intruder had breached Hogwarts grounds while she had been elsewhere. _Luke—the other prefect—he would have been aware and have alerted someone by now… wouldn't he? _Hermione's locked up fears began to flood into her mind. _What if _He _is here? It hasn't even been a week!_ Her breaths quickened as she remained frozen.

Quickly snapping back to her senses, Hermione leapt as quietly as possible into the shadows of the willow tree, clutching her wand to her chest. She worked to calm her erratic breathing—all the while repeating spells she could use in her defense if needed.

"_Such heavy footed creatures… So noisy and impetuous."_

Hermione jumped fearfully as the small voice came from the left of her—more loudly and proclaimed. Falling back and allowing her school bag to fall from her shoulder with a _thud_, she looked around to find the culprit hidden within the same shadows. Targeting a small movement in the darkness Hermione focused her eyes—attempting to zero in on the culprit.

"Who— Who are you? Show yourself!" Hermione shouted to the motion within the dimly light night.

"_So it speaks… And speak it does, indeed… I can understand said being unlike the rest. How peculiar…" _the voice whispered as it moved ever closer to Hermione. Scooting back, slightly tripping over her robes, Hermione allowed enough space for the creature to come into light. She pointed her wand, tongue ready to roll off a series of spells at her command.

_"And she carries one of those enchanted sticks…" _the snake drawled as it relinquished itself into the moonlight. Hermione's face paled and her throat constricted dryly as she gulped silently.

"Ar— Are you an animagus?" Hermione questioned, unsure of if she hoped the small, black snake was a wizard or witch in disguise.

_"I take it you are referring to those who choose to play out tom-foolery amongst the rest of us… I am not." _The snake hissed with a hint of disdain. Hermione stared at the creature, mouth agape. _"Since you seem to comprehend my word better than others, please tell your noisy kind that Nyoka cannot prepare for hibernation properly with so much heavy-footed thunder about."_

"Nyoka? Who is Nyoka?" Hermione questioned the irritated serpent—abandoning hopes of reason and doubting her sanity.

_"That would be me. I am Nyoka… I suppose I should ask your title—that is if your kind receives them."_

"I'm… You can call me Hermione."

_"Fair enough. So tell me… How is it you speak so freely with me?"_

"I… I don't know," Hermione spoke, knitting her eyebrows together in thought. One—if not, the only—potential answer came to mind. _No, that's simply ridiculous… there's no way I could…_

_"Hm... Most interesting indeed… Our kind has legends about those like you… Those who spoke to us as freely as the wind blows throughout the tree tops… Those who confided unto us and called to us by name—speaking without malicious intent._

_"As the seasons have passed, the accounts became legend, and legend soon began to fade into myth… Tell me, do you carry the 'Speech of the Serpent,' Hermione?"_

Hermione fumbled for words as she tried to respond to the serpent. Her hands moved to her head as she cradled it in attempts to better grasp reality—or whatever paradox was just presented.

"I— How— No, certainly not," Hermione dismissed with a shake of the head—answering more to her own thoughts than the snake's question.

_"Ah… so you say. But I can sense it. I see it within your eyes… He had eyes just like yours... Clear and sharp… or say they say at least," _the snake said knowingly. Had the snake obtained the capability of smirking, she knew one would be plastered on its serpentine lips. _"Now, if you will excuse me, the cold will be here soon, and if I wish not to die, I must prepare. It was nice meeting you… Hermione. My others will be glad to know that not all of the Speakers have vanished."_

Hermione barely managed a nod of acknowledgment before the snake had slithered back into the depths of the earth, beneath the willow tree. She remained sitting on the ground for a few moments, contemplating what had just occurred. She did not wish to doubt her sanity, but yet she didn't want to accept the snake's impromptu accusations.

Gathering her thoughts, she returned to her senses enough to stand. After she rose from the ground, she dusted her robes off and loosened the grip on her wand from her now aching, sweaty hand. Looking out onto the lake, she questioned whether or not to tell Dumbledore—or even Harry and Ron. Whether this played as a vital part to the prophecy or was merely a side-effect, she decided to remain unsure of—for her own statement she spoke in her second year to Harry came drifting back into her mind.

"_Even in the Wizarding World, hearing voices isn't a good sign."_

With her decision made, she turned to commence her trek back to the castle. Recalling a certain outspoken serpent, she treaded lightly on her feet when passing by the old willow tree.

The week passed by in a flurry of action and anxiety. Hermione exhaustedly trudged through each day. Dumbledore had requested of her to use this time to prepare, and that is exactly what she had done; her nights were filled with studying books on the dark arts and practicing spells in the Room of Requirement. Though drained, Hermione did not miss a moment without her friends and that could be managed. Some days, it took everything in her not collapse into a fit of tears—especially when Ron brought up plans for next month's trip to Hogsmeade. She, however, remained as stoic as she could.

As her friends spoke and laughed at dinner, she attempted to capture their essence in her memory—their moments of happiness and cheer that she may or may not get to share with them again. Harry and Ron were debating heatedly about the best quidditch teams. Ginny—who sat beside Dean—kept stealing glancing at Harry when she thought no one was watching. She saw Colin Creevey pointedly polishing his camera lens with a dining napkin as two 3rd year students beside him seemed to be discussing their smuggled Weasley Wizard Wheezes products currently in hand. Luna had joined the Gryffindors for dinner, taking place next to Neville who laughed as she waved her arms around in the middle of what appeared to be a dramatic storytelling.

Hermione smiled sadly to herself. Only once every few years could one find friends as reliable and honorable as those she was lucky to have been surrounded by. She inhaled deeply—capturing the moment with all of her senses. Though the smells may be the same, as well as the castle, she knew that nothing would come remotely similar to what she had now with those she loved. But it was that very notion that made her reconcile with her current duties. Every decision she made, every move she will make, and every moment she will live in the past will have not been in vain. She vowed to see to it that each moment lived would be devoted to protect those dear to her, no matter the cost. But though her vow stood strong, the fear of being forgotten lingered.

Later that night when everyone had fallen asleep, Hermione had silently packed the few things she could take and levitated them down into the common room. Crookshanks mewled softly in his carrier as Hermione prepared herself. She would miss her companion greatly, but Professor McGonagall had personally agreed to provide for Crookshanks while she was away—serving to ease her mind slightly.

Glancing at the clock on the common room wall, Hermione sat down at a desk in the corner and relinquished a piece of parchment, a quill, and ink from her satchel. Having only a few hours left until her departure, Hermione commenced writing.

Though Dumbledore had warned her of the chance of her becoming a memory lost in time, she would not allow this to simply pass without some initial planning on her part. Hermione wrote down everything about her she could squeeze onto the parchment: her full name, what she liked to do, her favorite books, her house, who her parents were, where they lived, and of course her two best friends and what she knew about them.

Neatly folding the parchment, Hermione waver her wand, casting a charm on the letter. It disappeared from her hands and she smiled, knowing that it had been conducted correctly. Having studied this method of communication within one of the numerous books she had studied over the week, she deemed it as a charm that could come in handy.

_In the event that the initial recipient loses memory of the things written on parchment by the writer, he or she will receive the parchment promptly. _Hermione recalled the passage clearly. Mainly it was used by witches and wizards who tended to forget anniversaries or to pick up items when shopping.

She glanced around the common room's warm atmosphere once more before exiting and making headway for Dumbledore's office.

"I hope everything has gone well for you this week, Miss Granger," Dumbledore greeted her as she entered his office where McGonagall stood with an old trunk beside her.

"I have had better, but I cannot argue. Thank you, Professor," Hermione said clearly exhausted. Dumbledore's face feigned slight worry before he moved on to retrieve the time turner.

Hermione walked over to Professor McGonagall and placed Crookshanks beside her feet on the floor.

"He doesn't get into much trouble very often, but he does have a bit of a tendency to chase rats," she smiled slightly to herself recalling the summer of her third year. It had been an all out battle between her and Crookshanks and Ron and Scabbers—who now could be referred to as Peter Pettigrew.

"Duly noted, Miss Granger," McGonagall said with a small smile. Being a cat animagus herself, she believed she would be able to contend with the ginger colored cat quite well. Stepping back, she allowed Hermione to gain a view of the dusty, old trunk that sat on the floor beside them.

"You will be taking this trunk with you, Miss Granger," McGonagall said with a slight flourish of her hand. "It is full of many clothing articles I owned as a young student at Hogwarts. They should provide you with adequate clothing of the time period you will be traveling to until you are able to take a trip to Hogsmeade and buy your own if you wish."

Hermione was slightly taken aback by the Transfiguration Professor's generous offer. "Thank you, Professor. I will do well to take great care of them so you may have them once again when I return. Thank you," she spoke inclining her in gratitude. Had she been looking up, she might've caught a glimpse of the old witch's eyes clouding slightly under a sheen of unintentional tears. Hermione had grown to be one of the greatest—if not the best—student to pass through Minerva McGonagall's class. She would always hold a special place in her heart for the bushy haired girl who had won her respect.

Dumbledore took place beside his colleague, holding the time turner open by its chain, ready to bestow it upon Hermione. "Miss Granger, within Minerva's trunk you will find your enrollment papers, a fully thought out family lineage prospect in case you are questioned, as well as a letter to my past self so that I may be aware of your importance at Hogwarts. The letter is very vague and I ask that you do not tell me of the future events and what's to come." Hermione nodded taking in his words as he gave her instructions.

"You will go by the name Hermione Sivad. You will be a half-blood student: your mother was a muggle, and your father a pureblood wizard. Your mother died at a very young age and you were raised by your father until he passed away from dragon pox during your third year at Beauxbatons.

"Your father, being an exceptionally man sturdy in his funds, left you whatever he had left for your tuition and to live on. You made a living the best you could with what he left behind, but after two years of funds, you could no longer afford the cost of attending Beauxbatons and holding down the home you had with him.

"By order of the Ministry of Magic's Schooling and Magical Education law, you were required to attend Hogwarts where funding is helped and you could afford to save whatever remained in your father's savings. Thus, you are brought to Hogwarts as a transfer student for your two remaining years." Dumbledore completed his clearly well-organized plan and searched Hermione's face for any falter or sign of misunderstanding. This was her life story, and she must have it memorized and know it as distinctly as he told it to her.

Hermione's face did not falter, strongly nodding her head in understanding, confident in her abilities to remember what Dumbledore was telling her. "I understand."

Dumbledore nodded as he stepped forward and placed the time turner around her neck. Hermione fixed her hair over the chain and stared down at the turner's pendant glittering in the dull glow of the room.

"Keep this time turner with you, hidden at all times. This is your link to then and now—you mustn't lose it," Dumbledore stressed to her despite knowing her high level of responsibility.

Hermione nodded once more. This was it; there was no turning back for her now. Swallowing hard, she stepped forward—fastening a leather belt around the trunk's carrier handle and hooking her body within it. She knew that time travel was very unlike the twist and pull of a portkey, but she was not prepared to take chances in leaving behind her keys to the past. She tightened her school supply-filled satchel and firmly secured it on her body.

She looked up at the two professors whom taught her to be as strong as she was now, and thanked them in her mind.

The two looked at the girl crouched beside her things on the floor. McGonagall had misty eyes and Dumbledore stood with a smile on his face. "We have complete faith in you, Hermione. No matter where you are sorted, you will always be a Gryffindor at heart," Dumbledore said with a hint of knowing in his voice that made her want to question, but instead, she decided to leave it be.

"Thank you," Hermione said quietly, acknowledging both professors. Taking a deep breath she adjust the time turner, turning it 5 times—one for each decade that had come to pass. She felt the magic filter throughout her as the chain of the necklace grew hot against the nape of her neck.

Within seconds, the world she had come to know faded out into a mesh of ever-swirling, dark clouds. Hermione Granger was no more.

Flying through time, Hermione felt as the something was pulling her down by the back of shirt collar—sending her falling at miraculous speeds toward a never-ending ground. The pressure on her being was much stronger than that of apparition. The trunk attached to her continuously slammed into her body as they were thrown through space.

The sensations began growing more strong and rapid as she neared her destination. Her head pulsed painfully and her stomach churned, turning flips. Just as she felt the bile beginning to creep up her throat, she was slammed face down into the cold, hard earth beneath her. Before she could register anything, she felt the weight of her luggage slam down unmercifully on the ground—hitting her head partially. She groaned in pain as she struggled to move her fatigued body to no avail.

As the pain began to course throughout her, her senses activated once more. She could hear the rumble of thunder off in the distance and feel the cold, moisture-ridden grass surrounding her body. The smell of rain filtered into her nostrils as she felt the cold, strong patter of incessant rain hitting her back.

Her eyes began to deny her wishes as they threatened to close into a forceful sleep. She continued to fight the feeling, but soon gave up and allowed her limp body to mesh down into the earth. Before obscurity claimed her, she heard the sound of two feet softly hitting the earth above the continuous downpour. Feeling the sponge-like ground sink close to her head, she painfully turned her head to the side.

She came face to face with a pair of black, mud ridden shoes framed by dark slacks and robe. Managing to raise her eyes to the figure, she saw a tall, pallid man looking down on her. His handsome, stoic face was framed with dark hair that clung to his temples and forehead in the unrelenting rain.

Hermione managed to whisper the word "Help…" before the man raised his wand, pointing it toward her. Before she could comprehend what was happening, her senses abandoned her and the darkness consumed—silencing her completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter may go up later today or tomorrow. Please stay tuned and please review or leave a Kudos! It would mean everything to me to help others find my story! <3


	8. The Catalyst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has made it back in time. Tom Riddle makes his appearance. Dumbledore is suspicious of it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I missed uploading a few times this week--I was at the hospital much of yesterday with my best friend as my godson was being born! :) 
> 
> Thank you all for being amazing! I hope a double chapter upload will earn forgiveness. So, here is the next chapter (and probably the part in the story you all have been waiting for)! I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> **Not all Pottermore, Fantastic Beasts, and Cursed Child content is included in this story--this is AU, please be aware.**

_Hermione found herself in a spacious room. Taking a step forward, she could feel a shallow puddle of water splash beneath her foot on the stone-flagged floor. She looked around and saw nothing of familiarity; it was dark for as far as she could see down the never-ending corridor._

_She cautiously walked further, her steps echoed—bouncing off the invisible walls, along with the hushed sound of dripping water plummeting to the surface of the below. Without thought, Hermione folded her arms across her chest—both to keep in warmth and to provide a sense of security she suddenly yearned for in the cold, desolate place she found herself in._

_The sound of something sliding across the floor broke the silence, causing Hermione to whip around quickly._

"_Hello?" She called out. Gooseflesh crept across her skin when she received no response._

_Turning around reluctantly, Hermione saw a dim light in the distance. Hastening her paces, she strode to reach her salvation. As she neared her destination, she heard the sound of jostling and more sliding. In panic, her steps increased until she broke out into a full sprint. Her heart pounded and her breath came out in huffs as she desperately sprinted down the long, dark corridor._

_In her unabashed lack of tact, Hermione's shoe caught a raised stone in the flooring—sending her tumbling to the edge of the walkway. Mere inches from her halted form, a dark body of water rested, surface undisturbed. She pushed herself up onto her knees and looked around. As her eyes reached the stretch of the water, she looked across to the end._

_Hermione came face to face with a massive, stone carving of a wizened face resting at the water's base. The aged man's hair had been carved in disarray, whipping wildly in all directions from his face. She attempted to identify her surroundings—to recall being there before, but nothing of familiarity came to mind. But something in her remembered reading about it and having been told, as well… about what had dwelled in the forbidden chamber…_

_An ice cold feeling enveloped every part of her, making her skin crawl with apprehension. She slowly pushed herself up off the floor—easing her way to her feet— never breaking contact with the stone man's eternal stare. She looked around fretfully as anxiety began to creep in. Hermione tried to remember what made this place so dangerous; what had made it dangerous for _her_ in particular._

_She gazed intently at the large statue. Her eyes drifted from the statue to the pool beneath the face. It was as if the water was frozen; no ripples emitted from the mysterious black lake—despite the water droplets that continuously fell out of sight. Hermione absent-mindedly walked forward to the edge of the stones—her feet dragging her almost as if she were in a trance._

_She made it to the verge of the blackened water and knelt down, looking into the stillness. In her reflection she saw no emotion upon her face. She stared at the figure that peered back at her through the waters. She lifted her hand to touch the unearthly paleness of her own skin—as did her doppelganger. _This… this isn't me. _Hermione shook her head and felt her brow furrow, but the mirage before her remained stoic, impassive in her objection._

_Her eyes met the girl's in the water. Hermione watched as the face of the girl twisted into a crude smile that sent a haunting chill running up her spine. Disturbed, she nearly fell back—and would have—had it been possible._

_Hermione desperately jerked her body, trying to wrench herself free from the unseen force that rendered her immobile. She felt the expression of the reflection slither up through her body in a wave of emotion that matched that of the face in the water. She felt as though someone had pushed her aside and took hold of her body—possessing her steadily despite her protests. She continued to fight the feeling that gripped her senses and rendered her body useless to her own devices. A strange emotion surged through her as if it were an electrical charge. She felt the hunger for power grow inside her._

_Fearfully, in a final attempt to free herself, she desperately fought back against the creature that had invaded her. She fought harder and harder until she gained control of her right arm. Hermione's hand connected with the water as she splashed away the image of the ghostly girl. The feeling of the being within her ripped apart from her, like flesh from bone, and vanished with a shriek from the ghoul. _

_Hermione backed away from the water, attempting to steady her erratic breathing. Slowly gathering her bearings on the situation, she questioned the doppelganger's motives. It had been much like an alter-ego of her very own—almost as if she were Jekyll, and the other, Hyde, such as she had read in a muggle book once. But a nagging thought kept reoccurring to her. What if it had showed her true self? Or perhaps, her future self? Deep down, Hermione knew this wasn't what she wanted… was it? Power and respect, diligence and intimidation… Is this what she truly wanted, the type of person she always was?_

"_Prove yoursssself…" a voice called as she, once more, heard the smooth sliding of something across the water-ridden floor echo throughout the cave-like structure. Hermione immediately jumped from the floor and spun around, looking in all directions for the source of the voice. She stepped away from the edge of the pond—forcing the elder to redirect his ever-lasting gaze into her back—and began walking. Things had gotten out of hand and Hermione desired to reside no longer. She had to get out of there and go home. Wherever 'home' was..._

_"Just as I suspected… Another spineless fool entering on territory in a world they know nothing about... Death will consume you in the end and will leave you with nothing—not even the knowledge of who you are or what you could have become…" Hermione continued on as the sound reverberated throughout her—almost as though the voice were coming from inside her mind._

_Hermione spun on her heel facing back to the statue of the large stone head and shouted, "I am not spineless!" _

_For reasons she could not explain, the accusation of the voice made her angrier than she had ever felt in the past—even when Malfoy taunted her during her third year, leading him to her fiercely punching him.. She clenched her fists tightly until her knuckles turned white. She had no knowledge of where she was or where she had been before, but now memories came flooding back to her in a rush… but, they were memories she knew wasn't her own… Memories that seemed to be fabricated from another time… another life._

_"The weak will deny their divine gifts and take no action. The weak will die the most painful deaths that this cruel world can offer. But the strong… the strong and the cunning, will have power… they will have the world as their own. Power is given only to those who dare to raise themselves above the weak and seize it. Only one thing matters, one thing… to step up above the weak and the unworthy… to become what you are meant to be…"_

_Hermione stood, fuming and shaking from the anger and iciness she felt surging through her body. She looked into the black, desolate eyes of the stone face that stared back at her. She would take any insult, but she would not be called weak… Her head started to reel as more memories began to flood her senses. Running through a corridor. Dangling a locket in front of a man veiled in shadow. Laughing madly as a group of wizards tried to overpower her. Memories that she had never experienced, but came to be in possession of otherwise. She clutched her head furiously as the images began to spin at rapid speed, causing her it to throb with excruciating pain. _

"_I… am… not…WEAK!" Hermione yelled, fighting the pain, fighting the memories, and most importantly, the voice that taunted her._

_"Prove yourself!" The voice commanded._

_Releasing her head, Hermione outstretched her hand toward the stone face of Salazar and edged to the water. Anger, thirst, power, and memories flooded throughout her body… none of these belonged to her, but they now did... They were her past, present, and future…_

_Hermione opened her mouth wide and a low hiss began to emit itself from her mouth, "Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four." _

_Slytherin's gigantic stone face was moving. The mouth of the statue was opening, wider and wider, creating a large black hole. Hermione watched, hand still outstretched, as something stirred inside Salazar's mouth, slithering up from its depths._

_Hermione watched fearlessly as the snake filtered from the dark and slithered through the shallow water, uncoiling itself. The king of serpents glided itself to rest in front of her, and rose up on its haunches to where it now towered above her, claiming its title properly._

_Hermione looked into the face of the basilisk, straight into its yellow eyes, straight into death… but death did not come. The cold had not left her body, nor had it worsened. She felt no fear, and she felt no excitement… she only felt the power from the hiss that was still tingling on her lips._

_Then the voice came back out of nowhere and reverberated one last time in a final tone, "So you have requested it, so shall I answer the call of the Heir of Salazar Slytherin..."_

_The basilisk swayed in the air, its body mimicking Hermione's movements as she stepped from foot to foot. In the darkness, Hermione saw movement surrounding the basilisk, but she could not make out what was causing the disturbance. Looking into the face of the serpent, a haunting hiss escaped from within her. The creature then rose up higher and higher above her, its presence commanding. The beating of thunderous wings sounded within the cave, slowly in the distance, then grew louder and closer._

_The basilisk relinquished a cry that mixed between the powerful screech of a hawk and the menacing hiss of a serpent. Before Hermione had time to even begin to question, she felt her body slowly falling backward into the darkness as weightlessness overcame her. The last thing she recalled was the cry of the winged serpent disappearing into the shadows._

* * *

Thunder crashed and shook the castle as rain and wind tore at the highest towers. The darkness stretched from corner to corner of the halls. An eerie foreboding couldn't help but creep upon all who traveled within the passageways that evening. Even the staff at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, whom had taught for many years, pulled their cloaks tighter around them as them as they made their rounds. The owls in the owlery could be heard hooting frantically off in the distance as the storm shook their domain. Even the tiniest creatures on the grounds scurried for shelter against the brutal weather.

A man with a long, graying beard stood looking out of a corridor window and onto the grounds of the academy. Albus Dumbledore had been part of the school for many, many years having gone there himself as a child, but he had never seen a storm such as this quake the castle with such ferocity. He continued to watch the rain pound the Great Lake, filling it to its brim, as he heard the sound of old, worn shoes hitting against stone. Having felt rather than see the young man pass, Dumbledore called out over his shoulder.

"Quite a dark and dismal night tonight…" Dumbledore mused more to himself than to the figure that halted behind him. "Wouldn't you agree, Tom?"

Dumbledore turned to face the young man he had watched grow over the years. His pallid features reflected in the dim flicker of the torches lining the halls. Dumbledore looked into the eyes of the boy he had seen progress and excel from imprudent childhood antics to the peculiar calm of a wizard with vigor. Tom Marvolo Riddle had grown indeed and had changed undoubtedly over time, but his eyes remained as dark and desolate as the day Dumbledore had met him.

"Yes, sir. It has been an… unexpected night, indeed," Riddle agreed, recalling the events of the evening he had experienced. He stood tall and firm, facing the wizard before him. His hands clasped behind his back and his face impassive.

"Without a doubt. It's not every day that one happens across a young lady and her belongings scattered across the grounds outside the castle," Dumbledore said with suspicion highlighted in his tone. He had no inkling of how this occurrence came to be, but with his arousing suspicions of Tom's secretive life, he wished not to forgo the current events without giving them deep thought.

Tom said nothing, but remained focused on the Transfiguration professor. Dumbledore turned his attention back toward the window and away from the darkened figure of the young man. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble, Tom, would you please go check in with our guest in the infirmary? I would like to speak with her as soon as she has awoken and recovered," Dumbledore said inquisitively.

"Yes, sir," Tom spoke clearly and went about his way, processing down the hall. As Dumbledore's eyes bore into his back until he turned around the corner, Riddle's jaw clenched repeatedly as he ground his teeth together. The wizard had been keeping an annoyingly close watch on him lately, sending him on many useless errands just to keep an eye on him. His nostrils flared in heated anger at the man's foolish endeavors.

Riddle had been seen as a golden student, as a prospect of great things to come in the future. The Headmaster considered him second to none among the students that he had seen filter throughout the halls of the school. The girls fawned over him, admiring his handsome looks and charm. The boys looked up to him for guidance, for inspiration in hopes to exceed or be equal to his stature. The rest of the staff admired his skills and often boasted that their proficiency in teaching was to thank.

Riddle scoffed at the very notion. He could outperform any student and any teacher that claimed their strength in magic—with the exception of Dumbledore. His temples throbbed once more in disgust. He may have despised the codger, but one thing he credited the man for was that he wasn't foolish like the others. Although Riddle liked his games and the entertainment of remaining undetected by others, Dumbledore was quickly beginning to bore him and become a nuisance.

But, Tom was biding his time. Soon he would be ready to act, ready to induce the punishment for their ignorance. Not all was safe and secure in Hogwarts. The imprudent beings that walked the halls, so used to their coddling, would soon be jolted awake. The world wasn't made of indulgences that insignificant people could come by with a stroke of luck. Dreams weren't something that children were welcomed to with awaiting arms as they drifted into slumber. Dreams and niceties that the students and staff at Hogwarts were pampered with made his stomach churn. Until they had experienced true nightmares and witnessed a life of filth and contempt, he would not stand by idly. He would make those who crudely served him his fate repay for their transgressions. Life wasn't made to be kind to those who were of _true_ deserving—just as Riddle had learned in the real world, as he had learned at his place in the orphanage.

Riddle rounded the corner and strode into the infirmary. The plump medic witch who had been bent over a cart holding various medicinal vials jumped in surprise, slightly jostling the trolley. Mentally cursing his ignorance for not regaining his calm composure, Riddle quickly affirmed himself and placed back up his charming façade.

"So sorry, Madam Meriwether, I came at the urgent request of Dumbledore to check on Hogwarts' current guest," Riddle said with false sincerity.

"It's quite alright, deary. I haven't seen you in quite some time, how have you been?" The medic witch, clearly fond of the young man, patted his arm and smiled sweetly. Riddle longed to retract from her sickening touch, but found it in his best interest to remain at ease. The medic hadn't seen him as a patient since his third year when he contracted some nasty muggle flu at the starting of term. He had no doubt that it was from the foul conditions at the orphanage in London, but thankfully magic had him healed by the end of the day.

"I've been doing very well, albeit quite busy with the prefect duties Professor Dumbledore has been assigning me lately. It's to be expected, I suppose, but I just wish I had more time to study further into runic theory for my current class," Riddle said with light disappointed tone. He always appeared to hold high esteem and regard for Dumbledore, but behind closed doors he wished ill fate upon the man—but the others had no inkling.

"I have to say, Dumbledore has been working you to the bone lately, Mr. Riddle. I'll be sure to have a talk with him very soon," the elder witch wagged her finger as she envisioned giving Albus Dumbledore a good scolding. Riddle smirked inwardly too himself. The witch was a nuisance when it came to caring for even the slightest injuries, so her reprimanding of Dumbledore should buy him enough time to plan carefully and carry out his deed soon.

"It isn't necessary, but if you decided to do so, I would be forever grateful," Riddle thanked her with false grace in his voice. The witch smiled sweetly as she adjusted the askew vials on the cart that she had knocked over previously.

As the witch quickly busied herself to tend to her task before addressing Riddle with a report for Dumbledore, the young man walked to the foot of the bed and glanced down at the girl lying under the white duvet. Her hairline was still speckled with mud, despite the evidence of Madam Meriwether trying to clean the girl the best she could for now. The young woman's dark, matted curls, peeking out from a wrapped bandage, were sprawled out on the pillow where her head rested. Her hand dangled off the side of the bed and head was tilted to the side due to the medic's continuous prodding and checking of her bandaged wounds, he assumed.

Riddle tilted his head slightly in curiosity as he stared at the girl's motionless body. His brow furrowed as he recalled the events that had occurred that afternoon.

* * *

_(Flashback)_

_Tom Marvolo Riddle was doing his afternoon rounds as a prefect. With Grindlewald's rising threat, the teachers implored that extra precaution be taken, thus Riddle had been sent by Dumbledore to do a round outside of the castle for "good measure." Despite the professor's seemingly good intentions, Riddle knew that he had been finding favor in him for tasks so that he could keep track of him._

_The rain beat upon the boy's exposed head, drenching him completely by the time he had stepped down the last stair of the entrance. Hot fury rolled through him as his aggravation for the mission_ _ grew. Quickening his pace, Riddle wished to finish his task a quick and painlessly as possible. He had a meeting with the Knights of Walpurgis that night and he would be damned if another one of Dumbledore's outrageous orders kept him from another gathering this month. Although the majority of the members within the organization were fools who understood very little, being the leader, Tom was able to keep them under his thumb quite easily._

_Before hatred clouded his senses, Riddle heard a series of thuds hitting the ground ahead. A deep frown set itself into his face. His frustrations gave him little time to spare, but his deep rooted curiosity acted before he rationalized with himself, his feet already pulling him toward the tree resting beside the Great Lake._

_At the distance from which his steps had halted, he could already see a body lying face down on the ground—the upper half hidden from sight by the tree. Riddle moved forward until he was at the base of the tree staring down on the figure. _

_The young woman, drenched and quivering slightly struggled, turning her face to the side. His face, impassive—yet inquisitive, watched as her eyes scanned from his shoes until they met his face. The weary eyes of the girl met his momentarily as her mouth opened, forming the words "Help," despite the rumble of thunder masking her voice entirely._

_Without speaking, he lifted his wand, pointing it toward the girl and her scattered belongings. Her head fell back to earth as she lost consciousness. Riddle resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the dramatic situation. He had wasted too much time already._

_The thunder rumbling in the distance grew louder as he whispered an incantation, levitating the girl and her luggage together to form a neat line. Riddle began the trek back to the castle, with the girl in tow. As he walked silently in the torrent of the storm, he studied the girl that had mysteriously appeared. Mud caked nearly every inch of her, shrouding her in the most unflattering way._

_Riddle scrutinized her features. Her hair still held a curled frizz to it even while wet, her slender form was curved fully in good health. She was young enough to be his age—give or take one year—but she had clearly not attended Hogwarts. Riddle had made personal note of every being at Hogwarts, their status, and who they had ties with—but nothing about this girl was remotely familiar._

_He could sense the magic slightly humming from her small frame, but he wondered her status in blood purity. Her looks did not show the aristocracy and hold the heir of a pureblood. Perhaps she was a half-blood, just as he was; perhaps a magical mother as well—her line tainted by the filth of a muggle. Or perhaps a magical father who fell sickeningly in love with a pathetic muggle damsel whom he couldn't shake off._

_Or maybe she wasn't either. She didn't hold the characteristics to any significant blood lineage from what he could observe—but then again, neither did Riddle. The rumored unsightly looks of the Gaunt family had clearly and obviously not been passed along to him. Perhaps she was a Muggleborn; just a filthy spot of luck that had occurred in a world of the damned and denied._

_Riddle grimaced in disgust at the unconscious girl floating by his side just thinking of the notion. There were far too many of their kind walking the halls of the magical institution, something Riddle hoped to change very soon. As he entered the doors leading to the castle foyer, his arrogant manner returned to him as he mentally patted himself on the back for his clever thinking and careful plotting._

* * *

Riddle continued to scrutinize the mysterious girl who seemed to be stirring in her sleep. He stood at the foot of her bed and instead waited. Madam Meriwether had returned to her medicine storage momentarily, leaving him to stand over her form, watching like a vulture in the shadows.

The girl's head straightened and her hand lifted itself to rest on her blanket-covered stomach. With a wince, the girl's eyes fluttered open slightly, dazed, landing on him.

Unexpectedly, Madam Meriwether returned carrying a medicine tray holding a glass filled to the brim with a strange, brown liquid. Muttering something to herself, the witch clumsily hit the side of an infirmary cot, nearly dropping the tray and spilling its contents. Riddle caught the tray quickly with expertise, preventing its fall. The medic let out the breath she had been holding, relieved.

"It took me two weeks to receive that shipment of herbs for this batch to be brewed completely—I don't know what I would have done if I had foolishly wasted such precious time and ingredients! Tom Riddle, you are a dear," The witch graciously thanked the young man whose eyes had not left the girl.

Hermione jolted awake, wide-eyed and breathing erratic, as she looked into the darkness of the eyes of Tom Marvolo Riddle—the eyes of the future Dark Lord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will go up tomorrow! Please stay tuned and please comment, subscribe, bookmark, or leave a Kudos! It would mean everything to me to help others find my story! <3


	9. Army of One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione awakens and meet none other than Tom Riddle. Dumbledore is, of course, suspicious of it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so, so much for all of the lovey comments, kudos, and interest in my story so far! I am so glad you all are enjoying it so far. Chapter updates are little slower this week due to being busy with work and my husband and I celebrated our anniversary! This is where my favorite story content kicks up, so I hope ya'll like it! I will try to post the next chapter tomorrow.
> 
> **Not all Pottermore, Fantastic Beasts, and Cursed Child content is included in this story--this is AU, please be aware.**

Hermione sat up, frozen as the dark man's eyes bore down upon her. Madam Meriwether rushed to her side immediately, gently pushing her back down onto the bed. She did not fight the witch, as she was stunned at her sudden greeting into reality.

"No, no… I am alright… Here… really, I am," Hermione spoke shakily while attempting to rise up from the medic's hold. Her heart pounded in fear as Tom Riddle continued to watch the slight squabble. "Please!" Hermione said pleadingly in slight fright, immediately wishing to escape and take a breather to herself. Madam Meriwether did not release her gentle hold.

The medic accomplished her chidings and pushed Hermione back down onto the bed, she attempted to slow her breathing. She could feel his stare burning into her as Madam Meriwether turned, grabbing the glass of murky liquid.

"Hear, drink this, deary," Madam Meriwether held out the glass to Hermione. She took it reluctantly—trusting the witch's kind demeanor—and gulped the foul-tasting concoction. Forcing the remaining liquid down, Hermione worked to keep the bile from rising in her throat. She groaned slightly at the upset in her stomach.

"Don't worry, it'll pass soon and you'll feel much better!" the witch exclaimed, relieved that her patient seemed to have calmed and come-to. Hermione watched as the medic turned from her, to the impassive—almost aloof—young man standing at the foot of the bed, examining her.

"It's quite clear that she hasn't fully recovered from the incident, perhaps Dumbledore may speak with her later, yes?" Madam Meriwether stated rather than asking.

"Professor Dumbledore said he wished to speak with her as soon as she has awoken, if she is incapable of making the trip to see him and Headmaster Dippet, then I shall immediately return her to the infirmary without delay," Riddle spoke, attempting to appeal to the medic.

Hermione watched as the devious boy used his charm and cunning to allure the witch into giving in to his request. Tom Riddle was without a doubt handsome. He had jet black hair, perfectly coiffed to accentuate the slight wave that sided off to the right. His eyes were the darkest Hermione had ever seen on a being—seeming to have an endless depth to them. He had a lean build that was visible beneath the cloak he wore and was very tall for his age. His skin, stood pallid against his dark features and wardrobe—but instead of taking away from his features, it added to them—making him all the more striking... _and terrifying_.

As if he could feel Hermione watching him, his gaze darted to the corner of his eyes and rested on her heavily while Madam Meriwether pondered her decision. Hermione felt her face flush and she immediately turned her head down to look at the bedding, wide-eyed and heart beat elevating.

"Well, if you think it's that important, then I will allow her to," Madam Meriwether inclined her head to him in defeat. "I know she'll be in good hands," the witch smiled broadly at the young man before leaving and returning to her office, shutting the door behind her.

Hermione had to refrain herself for screaming out a plea not to leave her alone in the company of the future dark wizard, but focused her mind on remaining calm and inconspicuous—if that were even possible at this point.

Riddle turned back to the girl and studied her momentarily as a hushed silence fell around them. Hermione held her breath and braced herself for whatever curse he may to hurl at her. She was slightly surprised when he spoke with ease—and no hint of malice tracing his voice.

"Our Transfiguration Professor, Albus Dumbledore, and Headmaster, Armando Dippet, wished to see you as soon as you were awake and mostly recovered. Come on." Tom Riddle then turned, expecting her to follow. Hermione, not ready for the abrupt departure, remained in her bed. After a few steps Riddle stopped, sensing her hesitance, and turned back to look at her—his face blank.

"I— I— Can't I clean up first?" Hermione asked exasperatedly at the sudden rush.

After a moment of heavy silence and Riddle staring at her form, he replied with, "Quickly then," before exiting the infirmary doors. Hermione let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding and shakily pushed down the bedding that covered her.

Looking for her belongings, she bent down to look under the bed. A sigh of relief escaped Hermione when she realized that the leather belts that had been strapped around the trunks had not been tampered with. She immediately grabbed her suitcase containing her clothing and dragged it by the belt to the infirmary bathroom. Hermione shut the door and locked it behind her, sinking to the floor in ragged breaths as tears threatened to seep from the corners of her eyes.

How had her life turned around so rapidly in just a week? The laughter she shared with her friends and the warm feeling of accomplishment that filled her as she studied and progressed were all but figments of her imagination now. Her only accomplishment she could achieve at this point in time would be to stay undercover and alive.

_Get a hold of yourself, Hermione! Snap out of it!_ She yelled mentally to herself, shaking her head back and forth to rid herself of the thoughts that would cause her more pain—the thought of her friends, her family. She forced back the tears and took a slow, deep breath. She had to gather her bearings; she couldn't afford to slip up so early. She stood up, her head held high. She wouldn't give in to defeat so early, she _refused._

She moved to the wash sink and mirror—noting that nothing had changed within the bathroom's interior from the future to now. She looked at her reflection and cringed at the dirt that still caked her hair under a bandage and her smudged face. Moreover, she was slightly embarrassed at the oblivious fact that she had been dressed in a long, white nightgown. _What a way to greet the future Dark Lord._ Hermione thought sardonically to herself.

She carefully removed the dirtied bandage that was wrapped around her head. As she made it to the end, she noticed that it had been slightly bloody. Instinctively Hermione reached her hand back to check the damage, but she felt nothing but a tender spot with a slight tinge of pain. _Thank the gods for magic._ She then bent over the sink and turned on the cool water, rinsing the dried dirt from her hair and face. She knew Riddle wouldn't wait outside forever—if he hadn't already left—so she did what she could for now. She would have no problem locating the Headmaster's office, but in playing the role of a transfer student, it would be to suspicious to get there without fault the first time.

She grabbed a pristine, white towel from a nearby shelf and wrapped her wet hair in it. Hermione leaned over her largest suitcase containing clothing and loosened the belts fastened around the case. Freeing the trunk, she opened it and immediately snatched up her wand, finding comfort in the familiar warmth that rested in her grasp. She pulled the towel off her head and pointed her wand toward her mass of wet curls, whispering a drying charm. Her hair immediately bushed out more than usual due to the fact she had no time to condition her hair.

She sighed and began digging at the bottom of the trunk for a hair band. Her arm was lost in a sea of clothes, digging desperately for what she sought. Finally Hermione felt the tip of something brush her fingers. Immediately she managed to grab the tip of the object and pulled lightly. When it didn't budge, she pulled harder.

"Ugh, come on you stupid thing," Hermione grumbled in frustration, pulling as hard as she could.

"_OW!_" A muffled voice hissed from beneath the mess of Hermione's clothing. Immediately retracting her hand, startled, she watched as the clothing began to wiggle and move slightly on its own accord. A small, dark green snake emerged from beneath the chaos—a rubber band caught around its neck. "_My kind do not exactly appreciate being called such slanderous names, either._" The snake spat, freeing itself from the cloth rubble.

"_Nyoka?_ What are you doing?" Hermione questioned in a hushed tone as her eyes widened in shock.

"Trying to free myself from this damnable thing_,_" Nyoka said as she tried to wriggle free of the rubber band. Hermione sighed in slight frustration, sliding the hair band from the snake's body with ease. Pulling her hair into a ponytail, Hermione then returned her attention to the snake.

"How did you get here?" Hermione asked, rubbing her throbbing temples.

"The same way you did, I should assume_,_" The snake said conversationally. Hermione looked at Nyoka, not amused by the reply. _"If you are concerning how I ended up _here," the snake said slithering further out of the clothing to rest atop the highest peak, "then I shall tell you_._" Hermione rested on the balls of her feet, looking at the green serpent, straight-backed and arms crossed.

"After our meeting the other night, I feared the winter that was coming—for I had little food storage and warmth underneath the old, dying tree. After our interesting conversation, I thought that you might not mind a little intelligent company throughout the cold winter, so as you sat upon the ground for a while, I slithered into your book carrier. So warm, so cozy—much more so than that rotting _stump_," The snake hissed with a disgusted voice.

"Intelligent company?" Hermione fumed, "Are you calling me ignorant?"

"I would never call you such names, but you did not think yourself a parseltongue, no? By staying with you, I could help you into this realization."

Hermione's eyes narrowed at the snake. "You just wanted a place warm in order to save your own skin," she spat.

"I will not deny my desire to seek better shelter," Nyoka appealed, "I don't exactly fancy dying at the moment. But, I planned to keep to myself and remain out of your way."

"But, how did you get _here_, in my trunk?" Hermione sighed inquisitively as she pointed to the large container.

"I saw you packing some strange objects and cloth into a large case. It looked so warm and inviting; as opposed to the crook in the floor under your bed. So while you were busying yourself with the other case, I slid inside with ease.

"Then, before I knew it, I was being thrown about like a child's plaything. Hours later, here we are. I hope that answers your question," The snake said—acting almost exhausted from telling its tale.

Hermione groaned, rubbing her palms against her eyes with fervor—hoping the whole mess was just a dream. She removed her hands and opened her eyes. After the colors faded, she was still greeted by the small serpent.

"This _isn't _good…" Hermione shook her head back and forth, not knowing what to do with the creature.

"Not good because you now have a burden… or because there is another one of you here?" The snake questioned curiously—slight interest clouded its serpentine voice.

"How did you…?" Hermione questioned uneasily, slowly retracting from the snake.

"We can tell when another Speaker is present. How do you think we have the ability to seek them out at will? We can _sense_ it—taste it in the air and feel it beneath our bodies. It calls to us, much as you called to me that night."

"Called to you? But I didn't—"

"Why else would I have left the safety of my domain below to tread among the topside as cold as it was? No, I wouldn't have. But it _called_ to me. Beckoned me to rise up from my resting point; I was naturally intrigued by this newfound sensation, and followed it, naturally," Nyoka hissed, arguing Hermione's logic.

"What about us? Can my kind sense your kind?"

"Did you detect me that first night we met?"

Hermione recalled the situation and shook her head.

"If one can sense the other and ultimately seek them out, why would your kind need that ability? They don't. Therefore, only _we _can sense and follow the call. We are under the command of the Speakers—not the Speakers under _our_ command."

"And your kind is okay with that?" Hermione asked, perplexed by the snake's acceptance to the seemingly forced ordeal. She never liked the idea of any creature being submissive and controlled by another when they are intelligent and strong enough to care for themselves. A life of servitude wasn't something Hermione saw as humane or even remotely kind; hence her stance on house elf rights.

"I do not see why we wouldn't be. If we are chosen by a speaker to be his or her familiar, then we are able to live without fear of being trampled, dying of the cold, and have access to other necessities we would not have had available to us before. You see, it can be beneficial to both human and creature."

"Beneficial to humans how? You just seem to want a free ride through life," Hermione scoffed.

"We may seem so in retrospect, but make no mistake; we are loyal to whoever has chosen us. It is our duty to stand by the ones who for once consider us almost equal instead of tainted creatures created from hellfire and brimstone.

"So you see," The snake slither up on its haunches to face Hermione, "the Speakers and the Snakes, we were created to tread this earth together. That is why it calls to us, why we are sought out. Until we have found our leader of the earth, we keep searching endlessly." The snake turned and curled into a mass—making itself comfy atop her clothing. "So what will it be, Miss Hermione? Shall you allow me the honor of staying, or will I be relinquished once more to the hands of the world and the fate of the gods?" Nyoka ask finitely, hoping for an answer to end the daunting interview of her recent actions.

Hermione didn't wish to throw a creature to the cold—especially if death is what would ultimately await them—but then again, she did not wish to attract attention by hauling a snake around the school and occasionally speaking to it. No, that wouldn't be acceptable. But she could not find it in herself to turn away the small, dark green snake.

"Fine. Okay. You can stay with me," Hermione said rubbing her throbbing temples, "but on one condition."

"Anything you desire," The snake said as it bowed its head respectively in gratitude.

"The… other Speaker… he can't know of you. He… can't know of my ability to speak to you. If he—or anyone else, for that matter—found out, it would end badly for me. For the both of us," Hermione said sternly. "Do you understand?"

"Indeed. And I will abide by these rules you have lain out before me, Miss Hermione," Nyoka hissed in earnest.

"Good," Hermione said quickly, diving in the opposite end of her trunk in search for clothing. Pulling out a gray wool skirt, stockings, and buckled shoes, she hurried and slid each item on underneath her night dress. Looking for a shirt, she snatched a button up jumper that had various horizontal lines, zigzags, and other patterns. She would have never chosen this shirt out for herself due to the loud design and assortment of maroon, grey, and black colors—but McGonagall's final offerings were all she had for now.

Hermione pulled off the night gown in one swift motion, and threw it down on the rest of the clothes pile, noting a muffled hiss of frustration from Nyoka as the garment fell on top of her. Pulling the itchy top over her head, Hermione couldn't help but cringe at the slight smell of mothballs infiltrating her nostrils.

Hermione moved to rearrange the clothing in the trunk so that it may close easily, but Nyoka quickly spoke up as she grabbed the by buckle at the top.

"Wait just a moment. What is it you are doing?" Nyoka hissed, startled. "You aren't going to just leave me closed up in this musty old trunk until you return are you?"

"What else am I supposed to do?" Hermione inquired.

"Take me with you, of course," Nyoka hissed slyly.

"What? I can't do that! It's just asking for trouble and to be found out. The answer is no. Absolutely not," Hermione shook her head rapidly in refusal.

"I give you my word, I will not draw any attention whatsoever," Nyoka hissed her allegiance.

"I told you, no!"

"Fair enough. I simply will have to bite holes in all of your garments then," the snake said calmly as she slithered closer to the pile of awaiting clothing.

"Alright, alright, okay," Hermione relented with a frustrated sigh. Without giving the small, green snake time to move, she pulled a black traveling cloak quickly from the mound, causing the snake to be jostled about. Hermione stood and slid on the cloak, then knelt and opened it, holding up an inside pocket to the serpent.

"Now, don't speak or move around _at all._ I already feel like I am on pins and needles," Hermione said stressfully. She had only been awake for a short amount of time, but today had already taken a toll on her—both physically and mentally.

"How uncomfortable," Nyoka hissed, but noting Hermione's serious expression, she nodded once firmly and slithered into the awaiting pocket.

Quickly standing up, Hermione closed her trunk firmly and levitated it as she opened the door. Using magic to slide it back to its former resting place under her cot, she straightened her robes, and tucked her wand in the sleeve of her cloak. Taking a deep breath, Hermione pushed open the infirmary door and stepped outside to the awaiting dark wizard.

To her surprise, she was greeted with an empty corridor. The only sounds that could be heard were the claps of thunder echoing through the darkened, open halls. Hermione had never seen Hogwarts this ominous or creepy—even in her second year when the basilisk roamed about.

Swallowing the lump of nervousness that had risen in her throat, Hermione slowly walked forward.

"Hello?" Hermione called out. No response. The chilly air bit at her through her robes and she felt Nyoka squirm slightly in her pocket—sensing the unease in the atmosphere.

Hermione allowed her wand to slowly fall from her sleeve and take its place in her hand. Without speaking the incantation, she silently casted a _lumos_ spell, allowing her wand to light some of the darkness. The scene felt all too familiar—as though she had been in this very predicament only moments earlier. Having not remembered the dream she had while unconscious in the infirmary that day, she was left with a sense of foreboding she could not place meaning to.

Mustering up her courage, Hermione walked in strides down the hall—almost trying to prove to herself that the fear she felt was ridiculous. She came to the end of the hall, looking both left and right down the forked passageway. Before she could gather herself to make a decision, she felt the presence of someone nearby.

_Maybe I should just talk to infirmary witch about where I should go… _Confident in her decision, Hermione quickly backed up ready to turn. It wasn't until she slammed into a hard, lean body that she registered the specter that had been lurking in the shadows.

Hermione bounced off the figure with a squeak, but managed to regain her balance before tripping. Beneath the glow of the light emitting from her wand, she could make out the ghostly face of Tom Riddle—who seemed to flash a slight grimace on his face before masking it up once more.

"I… I… Sorry, I didn't know where to go," Hermione lied in her most believable manner. She couldn't tell if he believed her or not, but he turned on his heel and walked down the right corridor. She fell into to step behind him, allowing him to lead the way to the Headmaster's office.

Riddle led her to the archway of the office—speaking the password in a clear, refined voice. The winged-creature revealed the stairs, allowing them to travel up. Once they reached the top, Riddle knocked twice and a muffled "come in," traveled through the heavy wood of the door.

"Ah, Tom, it's good to see you," Headmaster Dippet said from behind his overtly tidy desk. Dumbledore's years as headmaster of Hogwarts entailed multiple magical odds and ends lining his room, desk, and sometimes even lingering under chairs. He always had papers and open books strewn about his desk that would suggest he was hard at work researching. Unlike his counterpart, Armando Dippet kept the office neat and in strict order. There weren't any magical objects tinkering and spinning about the office like she had seen before, but instead, the only remote object of similarity was the large hourglass sitting upon Dippet's personal desk.

Hermione followed Riddle into the office where Dippet leaned back lazily in his chair—Dumbledore standing erectly at his side.

"I see you've brought our guest here safely, thank you, Tom," Dumbledore nodded to the dark haired boy. Tom didn't miss the undertone in which his sentence held, but he allowed a soft smile to grace his lips and nodded to his senior. Armando Dippet grinned broadly at the boy's charming demeanor.

"Yes, thank you. Off you go then, wouldn't want to keep you from any lady admirer you have plans to meet," Dippet said with a grin.

Riddle let out a deep chuckle. "You know I have no time for such things, sir. I must stay busy and continue my studies if I wish to be as successful as the staff here at Hogwarts."

"You're far too kind. Off you go then! And, Tom, don't stay out too late," Dippet winked at the boy, before Tom Riddle nodded respectively to both of his mentors and exited the office.

After Riddle left, Dippet immediately turned his gaze upon Hermione, who had been standing off to the side awkwardly. He motioned his hand for her to sit in one of the arm chairs opposite him and Dumbledore. She took the seat calmly, but her mind rushed to brief herself on her story she was to present. Dippet sat up, interlacing his hands and focusing on her.

"So, how did you end up on the outskirts of our fine academy, Miss…?"

"Sivad. Hermione Sivad," she said more quickly than she intended.

"Miss Sivad, how did you happen upon us?" Dippet inquired.

"I previously attended Beauxbatons for my first three years, but my father passed in my third year. He left behind funding for me to continue living in our large home and pursue my education at the academy, but during my fifth year, the funds proved insufficient and I could no longer afford to hold down the home and pay tuition," Hermione paused and looked up from her head which she had downcast to feign sorrow.

"My condolences, Miss Sivad. What about your mother?"

"She died when I was very young. I barely knew her," Hermione sighed frowning lightly. Dippet looked over to Dumbledore, acknowledging the fact that he had dug himself into an uncomfortable position. Dumbledore nodded to continue.

"Ah, I see. Then what happened?"

"After my absence of attending my 6th year, one of my former professors of Beauxbatons checked on me upon request. After I explained that I could no longer afford to attend, she contacted the Ministry whom said it was required by the Schooling and Magical Education law that I finish out my remaining years. I was recommended to enroll in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry due to the tuition aid. Before my Father's home foreclosed, I packed up my things and the remainder of what little money I had left and did a bit of sketchy apparition here. As you can see, it did not serve me well. The magical boundaries rebounded against me—nearly causing me to get splinched."

Hermione smirked inwardly to herself. She clearly had told her story in a believable manner, for Dippet seemed somewhat saddened by her unfortunate tale; Dumbledore stood silently, a light frown on his face.

"It's a curious thing," Dumbledore inquired, "You apparated you say? I was unaware that Beauxbatons taught apparition to their students so early." Hermione barely refrained from blanching on the spot, but managed to use her quick wit to form an answer.

"My father had a substantial sum of money and thought it would be beneficial that I learned to apparate early on when he first began to show signs of illness. I learned under a personal mentor that the Ministry appointed and approved." Hermione was proud of herself as the well thought lie tumbled expertly from her lips. Dumbledore still had skepticism written in his eyes as he peered over his half-moon shaped glasses.

"Oh, quit prodding, Albus, it's evident the girl has been through quite the ordeal recently," Dippet said reproachfully to his understudy. "Did you have transcripts from your former school?"

"Yes, sir. I placed them in my trunk, I did not wish for them to get damaged. Unfortunately my trunk is still in the infirmary. I may go retrieve them if you wish."

"No, no, that won't be necessary. I think we've spent enough time in this drab, old office as is. When you retrieve your things, have Madam Meriwether in the infirmary point out Professor Dumbledore's office—he will collect your transcripts and put them on file. You shall be sorted tonight in our Great Hall at dinner. Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Miss Sivad," Dippet said, reaching out to shake her hand as he rose.

"Thank you, sir, it's an honor," she smiled warmly, grasping the Headmaster's hand and shaking it firmly.

Turning around, Hermione exited the office to recover her paperwork—relieved that things had gone off without a hitch. She walked down the corridor back to the infirmary to retrieve her things. Upon seeing that Madam Meriwether had her door shut and appeared to be in her office working, Hermione sat down on the cot that had been hers for the day. She took a deep breath—regaining her bearings.

She felt a slight rustle in the inner pocket of her robes. Opening it up slightly, she allowed Nyoka to peek her head out for fresh air.

"Well that went well," Nyoka hissed.

"Yeah. Thanks for not bringing attention to yourself—I nearly forgot you were even there," Hermione said as a rush of adrenaline filled her body. She was unused to lying so heavily in a day, the rush of excitement she felt from her accomplished task caused her to mentally pat herself on the back.

"I gave you my word, did I not? This Dumbledore fellow, though, I do not like," Nyoka hissed disdainfully.

"Dumbledore is a good man. And you'd be wise to learn a thing or two from him," Hermione said reproachfully.

"I have acquired as much knowledge as I desire, thank you. How can you speak of him being such a good man if he treated you with such blatant rudeness?"

"He has a right to be curious. After all, it was I who intruded upon them, not the other way around," Hermione affirmed standing to her feet with snake's head still hovering slightly out of the pocket. "I have to deliver my papers to Dumbledore and then proceed to the Great Hall for dinner. You can either return and wait in my trunk or go with me, but the same rules apply as before."

"It's so cramped in here I almost wish to choose the trunk, but if I did, I would miss out on the interesting details of the little web you seem to have woven, Miss Hermione."

"Fine, suit yourself," Hermione said readjusting her robes, causing the serpent to slide back into the pocket. "I hope you don't mind a few hundred, chattering students parading about the Great Hall tonight, then," Hermione smirked to herself as the snake hissed in brewing frustration of the situation.

Hermione retrieved her paperwork that the future Dumbledore had left to her devices, then casting a charm minimizing her luggage; she placed the two transformed trunks into her pocket opposite Nyoka.

After she received the unnecessary directions from Madam Meriwether, she made headway for the Transfiguration classroom that Dumbledore would be waiting in. She passed a few students traveling throughout the darkened corridors—their eyes following her curiously. Approaching the classroom, she knocked on the heaven wooden door and waited. A muffled "come in" flowed through the door and Hermione entered without delay.

Dumbledore at his desk bent over a stack of papers working fervently. Hearing the door shut, he placed down his quill and looked up to smile at Hermione warmly, gesturing her to have a seat in what appeared to be a newly conjured chair.

"Thank you, sir." Hermione sat down, but before she had a chance to give him the papers, he held up a hand, halting her actions.

"Miss Sivad, I am unaware of what pretense you have come under, but I trust that you have good reason for doing so," Dumbledore said calmly, but in a serious tone. Immediately Hermione paled and her mouth went dry.

"Sir?" she began to question, but was silenced as Dumbledore reached into his desk and pulled out a time-turner with glittering, silver sand in the hourglass. Unthinkingly, Hermione's hand quickly reached up to feel around her neck for the familiar warmth of the chain. Her searching hand found nothing. Sighing, she downcast her head in embarrassment at her foolishness.

"I am sure you have an explanation for your presence here." Dumbledore said knowingly as he set the object down onto his desk.

"Yes, I do. But, I was ordered not to speak of it, sir," Hermione said, standing firm on her orders.

"By whom were you ordered, Miss Sivad?" Dumbledore asked, brows furrowing.

"By you, Professor," Hermione stated. Dumbledore's expression eased into a look of curiosity as she withdrew a letter from within the stack of papers, handing him the envelope that was addressed to him by name.

Hermione watched silently as the professor slid his finger expertly underneath the flap, opening the envelope and retrieving its contents. Holding the letter close to his face in immense studying, his eyes flitted back and forth horizontally, reading the words written in his very own handwriting.

After he completed his examination, he refolded the letter and placed it back in the envelope before placing it in his robes for safekeeping. His glasses set upon the bridge of his nose as a wearied look graced across his face, highlighting the pre-aging wrinkles.

"I know very little of the situation besides the fact that much darker times lie ahead. I have felt this for some time now—but the extent must be beyond what I had expected. Miss Sivad, I commend you on your bravery of agreeing to this task. It must be quite the burden to bear," He said solemnly.

"Yes, it has been. But I feel a little better knowing you understand now, sir," Hermione sighed with relief. Dumbledore now understood her predicament to some extent—and even though his knowledge was slight, it helped to ease her nerves. She handed him the false paperwork. Accepting it, he scanned over the official-looking documents and found them to be in order.

"Miss Sivad, I understand that you were chosen for this mission due to my faithfulness and trust in you, but I do advise that you be more careful and discreet," Dumbledore said lifting the time-turner. "This artifact is not widely known by common wizarding folk, but if it fell into the wrong hands, the results could prove most disastrous. Please keep it hidden from sight and safe. It was quite fortunate that Mr. Riddle was too intrigued with your unusual arrival that he did not notice the time turner lying several feet from you."

"Yes, sir, I will," Hermione said with a nod as she took the turner from him and slid it over her neck, hiding it beneath her shirt.

"As for your funding for the remainder of your time here, that will be taken care of. After you are sorted, we will have a house-elf deliver your uniform, books, and supplies to your dormitory," Dumbledore said as he straightened the papers on his desk.

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione spoke, standing up to proceed to the Great Hall for dinner and her sorting. She turned to exit the classroom.

"And Hermione," Dumbledore said in seriousness, "be sure that your companion does not reveal itself so willingly to other students—for I believe you are not the only one with an affinity here." Nyoka slithered uneasily in Hermione's pocket. Taken aback by his ability to make note of the snake accompanying her made her worry about carrying the creature around.

Dumbledore smiled warmly at her, inclining his head hoping to ease her spirits. Though still apprehensive, Hermione allowed a soft smile back before nodding then leaving the classroom, and the young Dumbledore, to his thoughts.

Hermione reached the Great Hall to see the Headmaster, Armando Dippet, standing outside waiting with a staff member—a tall, spindly witch with graying hair—holding the sorting hat. Hearing light footsteps, he turned.

"Ah, Miss Sivad, we were beginning to worry you had gotten lost. I trust you delivered your transcripts to Professor Dumbledore, correct?"

"Yes, sir," Hermione affirmed.

"Good, good," Dippet beamed, "Now, let's not delay any further!"

The Great Hall doors opened wide, allowing the sound of chattering students to greet them. Dippet and the spindly woman carrying the enchanted hat entered with Hermione following behind. The voluminous conversations quickly turned to mutterings and hushed whispers as Hogwarts' new student entered the hall.

Hermione's stomach turned flips as she approached the head of the dining hall where a single stool was placed. She took a seat facing the hundreds of students staring at her beady-eyed in confusion and curiosity. Some students in the back craned their necks to peer over the mass of beings to catch a glimpse.

"Good evening students! Before we begin our delectable feast, I have an announcement to make," the Headmaster spoke loudly over the dying voices. Hermione nervously looked around. Looking at the Gryffindor table, she saw a few red heads peeping out amongst the crowd—as well as a woman who had the resemblance to a younger McGonagall. Her eyes searched over the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables who watched with piqued interest. Lastly, her gaze fell on the Slytherin table. Immediately she was able to find the dark haired, Tom Riddle surrounded by a group of boys at the very end of the table. He sat with his chin over clasped hands, observing her like a specimen put up for show. A boy with light blonde hair, bearing a striking resemblance to Malfoy, kept his eyes fixated on her as he smirked and made a remark to the observant Riddle, nudging him slightly in the side. Uncomfortable with the countless onlookers, Hermione decided to keep her gaze ahead, on the Great Hall doors.

"This is our newest member to Hogwarts, Hermione Sivad. She is an exchange student from the prestigious Beauxbatons School of Magic in France. Help us welcome her to our fine academy as she is sorted!" Dippet exclaimed with a wave of his arms and a gesture to the witch beside him. The witch eased the hat down onto Hermione's head as her sorting began.

"_Miss Granger! How interesting it is to see you again,"_ the Sorting Hat said as he recognized the brainy, bushy-haired girl.

"_How did you…?" _

"_Tut, tut, it matters not. You have changed quite a deal since your first year, indeed. I see you have acquired a few skills in you arsenal as well." _the Sorting Hat said as she felt Nyoka squirm in her pocket.

"_Yes… I guess you could say that," _Hermione said through her thoughts to the hat.

"_Your blood is as pure as they come… your wit as sharp as the spear of a warrior… your courage as great as lion… and your heart as soft as fallen snow... But where to put you…?"_

Hermione wrung her hands nervously as the hat deliberated on his decision. He mumbled indistinctively, musing on his options.

"_If only I could put you in two houses at once!" The Sorting Hat chuckled. "You have the cunning and guile of a Slytherin, but the wit and wisdom of a Ravenclaw. Both are most prominent within you and wish you to serve their house well._

"_Fair enough," the Sorting Hat spoke as if to another entity. "For now, you shall reign in this domain with absolute right, but this battle of which you belong to is far from just a fight… Just because one path has been laid before you doesn't mean that it is permanent and unchanging, Miss Granger, keep that in mind…"_

"_Wait, what do you mean…?"_

"Better be… RAVENCLAW!" the Sorting Hat shouted.

The Ravenclaw table burst into cheers for their newest member. The Slytherin, Gryffindor, and Hufflepuff tables clapped respectively as Hermione hopped off the chair and made way to join her newest house.

A group of students cleared a seat for her, patting her on the back and shaking her hand as she smiled and spoke many thanks to the numerous students clamoring to her. After the chatter died down Dippet raised his arms once more.

"And now, we feast!" He shouted jubilantly. With another wave of his arms, the food appeared before the throng of students who began filling their plates in haste.

As Hermione started to fill her own, she felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning around, she came face to face with a girl who was seated opposite her at the Gryffindor table. Her hair was up in a bun and glasses sat on her face.

"Welcome to Hogwarts! Oh, and nice sweater, I had one just like it last year," The girl spoke—a smile coating the Irish lilt in her voice.

"Thank you," Hemione smiled back to the young McGonagall. Maybe completing her mission in the past wouldn't be as bad as she thought. She turned back to her plate, smiling to herself as she grabbed a spoon and began scooping mashed sweet potatoes onto her dish.

Riddle had not moved from his position of examining the newest student. His brow was slightly furrowed in thought. It had taken the Sorting Hat several and a half minutes to deliberate on where to place her. It was, without a doubt, probably the longest hat-stall that had ever occurred in the history of Hogwarts—of this he was certain. He found it a curious thing that an unbeknownst newcomer as herself being so closely examined by the sorting hat. It was curious, indeed.

"Come on, mate, I know she's easy on the eyes, but you need to eat before Crabbe over here eats all of the best stuff," Abraxas Malfoy said to Riddle before helping himself.

"Easy on the eyes… Don't make me laugh, Malfoy," Riddle scoffed as he snapped out of his trance and began to fill his plate, his thoughts never straying one from Hermione Sivad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot will start to pickup in the next chapter or so. Thanks to everyone who has supported my posting of this story so far on AO3. Stay tuned and please subscribe, review, or leave a Kudos! :)


	10. Clandestine Spirit: Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione makes some friends, and draws a little too much attention to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments! I am so happy you all love Nyoka. I wasn't sure how she would be perceived by I love her and thought that Hermione could use a companion to help her feel sane... or absolutely not in some cases (talking to snakes, of course). Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this next chapter!

The feast in the Great Hall dwindled down as the students finished filling themselves to the brim with delectable desserts and sweets of all sorts. Headmaster Armando Dippet rose from his place at the staff table and held up his arms to silence the chattering.

"What a wonderful evening it has been, indeed. But, alas, all good days must come to an end, no? Now, off to bed with you!" He exclaimed in a jovial tone before retiring through the side exit near the staff seating area.

Immediately the students clamored up from their seated positions as the prefects began leading their groups out into the hallway to make headway for their respective dormitories. Hermione craned her neck to see over the crowd of red, green, yellow, and blue.

"All Ravenclaws, follow me! First years, don't dawdle, and stay in line!" She heard a boy's voice call out ahead as he sent out the prefect commands. Hermione quickly fell into the throng of bronze and blue as the houses separated—going four different directions.

A slight tingling of anticipation filled Hermione as the Ravenclaws climbed staircase after staircase. She had never seen the Ravenclaw common room before. Luna had always spoken of its drafty towers and beautiful views. She had always said you could always smell the coming of snow before it fell upon the school grounds.

After climbing a tight, narrow staircase, the mass of students approached a large wooden door with a bronze eagle-shaped knocker. The conversations dimmed into hushed whispers as the knocker came to life, releasing a prolonged yawn—craning its neck, and ruffling the artisan feathers.

"Ah, good afternoon, young ones," the deep voice bellowed from the knocker, "I hope your evening has been enjoyable." The older students smiled and nodded as the first years stared in awe. "I hope you've kept your mind sharp and your wit at the ready over the summer; I've been longing to try out this riddle.

"What is once in a minute, twice in a moment, and never in a thousand years?" The knocker questioned the students. Immediately the hall was filled with mumbles and quizzical looks. Hermione, too, began to ponder the possible answers.

"Is it true love?" a shy-voiced first year said while anxiously playing with her pigtail.

"No, unfortunately that is not the answer." The girl shrank, casting down her head in embarrassment. The knocker appeared to be thinking momentarily, before glancing back at the girl. "Hm… Try not to think too hard on this one. Logical doesn't always mean there is a deep answer required. Sometimes simplistic knowledge is enough," the knocker said in a semi-hushed tone, comforting the girl.

The girl's eyebrows furrowed as she bit her lip in deep thought. "Is it the letter 'M'?" she asked with slight trepidation. The hallway was silenced as they waited for a response from the doorkeeper.

The eagle head chuckled deeply, "We have a bright one on our hands for sure. That is the correct answer, you may enter." The door swung open and the students filed in—the little girl smiling to herself all the while.

Hermione stared, open-mouthed in awe, at the sight before her. The door opened to reveal a wide, circular room with an expansive amount of books upon shelves and graceful arched windows. The spaces that were not occupied by the numerous tomes and vaulted windows were draped with shimmering banners of bronze and blue. Hermione turned her gaze upward. The domed ceiling was painted with stars that echoed against the midnight-blue carpet. Her eyes trailed to the dark blue furnishings draped with elaborate, decorative quilts and throw pillows.

As Hermione walked further into the room, the students dispersed. Many of the first years ran to the windows to stare at the grounds below as the older students plopped onto the seating or went to the bookshelves. Hermione walked aimlessly around the room, taking in the scene that unfolded before her.

She continuously turned about—a grin on her face—to exam the room in its entirety. Turning once more, she came face to face with a large, marble statue standing between the two dormitory doors. The tall, lean carved figure of Rowena Ravenclaw stood in the half-light by the gloriously lit marble hearth. Hermione's eyes examined the statue. Her intricately carved diadem was placed upon her head beautifying the artisan designed dress of stone. The statue of Rowena Ravenclaw was modeled in a way that made it appear that she, herself, were looking upon whoever stood at the base of her pedestal. Hermione stared deeply into her eyes, almost if she were waiting for her to spring to life any moment.

"Hermione Sivad is it?" A girl to the right of her piped in, causing Hermione to jump from her trance in response. "Oh, I am sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you." Hermione turned to the girl.

She had short blond hair that seemed to be cut in disarray; pieces of thin, light hair hung down unequal in length sticking out at different angles. Her eyes were bright and her expression cheerful against her fair complexion. Her nose pointed upward slightly and light freckles dusted her nose and cheeks. She was clearly an upperclassman—despite being notably shorter than Hermione.

"I am Aviela Goldstein," the girl spoke, holding out her hand. "I am a sixth year—though I doubt I look it," she smiled sheepishly, "I thought I should introduce myself and welcome you to Hogwarts!"

Hermione immediately grasped the girl's hand and smiled warmly.

"Thank you for the welcome, Hogwarts truly is a magnificent sight. It's quite difficult to take it all in at once actually," Hermione said as she looked around the expanse of the circular common room.

"It can be, but I am sure you'll adjust in no time. At least you didn't cry overwhelmed like my brother did at the beginning of term," Aviela shook her head in clear embarrassment.

"Perhaps, but we all tend to be quite dramatic as first years," Hermione said in defense of the girl's non-present sibling.

"Oh, I was referring to his fifth year start of term actually…" the girl trailed off awkwardly. But almost as if on command, the two girls began giggling uncontrollably at the notion of a nearly grown boy crying. After the laughter subsided, the girl continued, "We are twins, but you would never recognize it unless someone told you. In comparison to me, his height makes him stand as tall as a mountain troll. But, despite that, he is a very fearful one; his anxiety and skittish nature reminds me of that of a turtle!"

The girl laughed once more before pointing to a very tall boy with disheveled blond hair, standing next to the fireplace. In the same moment, a student accidentally knocked a book from a shelf causing to hit the floor with a bang. The wide-eyed boy jumped with a yelp and stammered back a few feet before turning around and releasing a breath of relief and going back about his normal stance of staring at the fire.

"Has he always been like that?" Hermione asked, her eyebrow arched in confusion.

"For as long as we can remember. It makes no since really, but that's Christopher for you," she laughed sheepishly again. "Anyways, I just wanted to introduce myself as I was told we would be dorm mates from here on out," Aveila said with a smile.

"That sounds absolutely wonderful—and thank you again for your warm welcome. Hogwarts will take time to get used to, but I have a good feeling about it," Hermione smiled before turning to look out the nearest window.

Everything was going so smooth and ideal, but Hermione knew deep down that this would not last for long. Her smile slowly faded as she pondered the things to come. She made her way up the stairs to the girl's dormitory. She paused and glanced back at the students laughing merrily throughout the hearth-lit room. The dark clouds were upon them all and it was only a matter of time before the storm begun.

* * *

Hermione woke early the next morning after having a bout of strange dreams she couldn't remember. Having told Nyoka that nothing was wrong despite her knowing hisses, she convinced the small snake to stay behind in the dorms for her first day so that she may get her bearings without slight disturbances. The snake showed her disdain by biting holes in Hermione's sheets, before slithering back under her pillow.

By the time the other students had awoken, she had washed up, dressed, and read a few chapters from a random tome sitting on one of the common room shelves. She offered kind smiles to those who passed through the doorways.

Breakfast approached quickly and Hermione joined the congregation and made her way to the Great Hall. She quickly spotted the Goldstein twins and sat down just as the feast begun.

"Good morning, Hermione," Aviela said with a perky tone. Unlike Hermione, she was clearly a morning person. "Oh, and Christopher, this is Hermione Sivad. She is my new dorm mate for the year."

"Hello Christopher, it's a pleasure to meet you," Hermione smiled as she reached across the table to shake the boy's hand. Startled, the awkward boy dropped the serving spoon in his hand, causing it to fall into the gravy bowl and splatter all over his new robes. He blushed heavily, and kept his hand down as he shook her hand and mumbled a quiet "hello". Hermione and Aviela giggled as he attempted to clean himself up with a napkin to no avail.

Hermione pulled out her wand and looked at Christopher for permission. He seemed uneasy as he looked over to his sister who only smiled at him. He gulped and gave a firm nod. Silently casting a cleaning charm on him, Christopher's robes were soon spotless and—perhaps—cleaner even before the gravy had encountered them.

"Silent magic? You can cast spells silently? Wow…" Aviela said with wide eyes, "We weren't due to study that until later this term. Your last academy must have been very advanced." Hermione was quite surprised that they weren't already studying the various forms of casting spells without using speech, but then again, time had progressed in her era.

"I had previously attended Beauxbatons, but I have done much research and practicing in that area on my own. Just for my personal studies, you know…" Hermione trailed off bashfully as she realized the students at the Ravenclaw table were turned in her direction with interested eyes.

"That's really neat… Thanks… for that," Christopher coughed as he thanked Hermione for her help.

"You're welcome," Hermione replied in earnest, indirectly dismissing the event and turning back to breakfast with the rest of the students.

Her actions did not go without further notice, though. Tom Riddle's dark eyes had been trained on her all morning. He was slightly surprised by her magical aptitude she had shown only moments ago.

"She seems quite talented," Abraxas Malfoy spoke as he caught the tail end of the event.

"I doubt there is much talent to be found, but she has potential, that is certain," Riddle scrutinized. Malfoy chuckled recognizing his colleague's shrouded compliments and continued to fill his plate.

Aside from Tom Riddle, another wandering eye had seem to catch the action in progress. Albus Dumbledore's eye twinkled as he saw an example of her magical abilities. He very much began to look forward to seeing what his new young student's full capabilities were.

With numerous sets of eyes unknowingly trained on her, Hermione finished her meal with unease and stood up to begin what she knew would be a long day ahead of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all liked this chapter! I will try to update with part 2 tomorrow. Work has been crazy, but I'll try to post tomorrow. Please leave a comment, kudos, subscribe, and bookmark! It helps me feel motivated to get content up faster. Thank you all!


	11. Clandestine Spirit: Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slughorn stirs the pot--both figuratively and literally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy almost-Friday, folks! I am excited for the weekend because I am hoping I'll be able to post some extra chapters (two a day?!) since I will have a bit more time to do so. I'll be participating in a DnD charity event, but I am hoping to get some writing completed as well.
> 
> As always, thank you all so much for your support, comments, kudos, etc. I am glad you all love Nyoka so much and are excited for the story to pick up the pace. I hope you enjoy this chapter and have a happy Friday!
> 
> **Not all Pottermore, Fantastic Beasts, and Cursed Child content is included in this story--this is AU, please be aware.**

Hermione's day had gone better than anticipated. Her first two classes—Transfiguration and Charms—went exceedingly well. Having both classes with a mixture of Ravenclaws and Gryffindors put her at ease. She had yet to spot Riddle, which for her, was a sigh of relief. The curriculum taught in both didn't differ much from what she was formerly expected to learn that year. Her advanced knowledge on the subjects did well to impress her professors, but Hermione remained modest as Aviela congratulated her on doing so well on her first day.

"Come on, Hermione! That refreshment quiz was difficult; a perfect on your first try of casting a silencing spell? It took Christopher a whole twelve minutes to silence Professor Arlington and not himself!" Aviela trailed after Hermione with her books held down at her side. "You don't need to act so modest. I mean, Abraxas certainly doesn't," Aviela said as she nodded toward the young Malfoy chatting up a group of Hufflepuff girls and casting a spell that caused velvety rose petals to fall out of his wand.

"What a chauvinist," Aviela said more to herself.

Hermione giggled slightly at the scene of seeing a Malfoy actually being a successful charmer—in more ways than one. Abraxas Malfoy certainly held the pureblood-expected grace and prestige that Draco had not.

"Either way, you wouldn't want me to turn out like that would you?" Hermione stated with laughter.

"Like what? An attractive, blond-haired fellow who's in line to inherit his family's fortune? Of course not," Aviela smirked. Hermione tried to keep a serious face, but it fell to pieces as laughter took its place.

"Well now, it's not every day you see _two_ smiles brighter than the sun." Hermione and Aviela looked across from them and saw the young Malfoy toying with his wand and smirking in their direction.

"Oh, sod off, Malfoy. How many times have you used that line today?" Aviela said lightly, her hands resting on her hips in authority and an eyebrow raised in false interest.

"Enough to have caught your attention, eh?" Abraxas said smugly as Aviela scoffed and rolled her eyes. Abraxas then turned to Hermione, politely extending a hand, "Forgive my rudeness, miss. I am Abraxas Malfoy. I don't believe we have met."

Hermione stood in suspicion for a moment before cautiously grasping his hand.

"Yes—I mean no, we haven't. I am Hermione Sivad." Hermione fumbled over her words slightly—it wasn't every day you shake hands and make niceties with your rival's ancestors. True to the Malfoy nature, Abraxas took her bafflement as a sign of his charm going into effect.

"Well then, Hermione Sivad, it is very nice to meet you." Abraxas raised her hand to his mouth, kissing it gently. Hermione felt the back of her neck burn with slight embarrassed, but successfully kept a blush from creeping to her cheeks. "I look forward to getting acquainted this year," Abraxas smiled slyly as he conjured a red rose and presented it to her.

Hermione could not fight back the blush anymore as it tinted her cheeks to match the color of the flower. The small scene had attracted the eyes of numerous girls from various houses, causing them to send Hermione glares of sudden distaste.

Hermione gulped and quickly snatched the rose as Abraxas nodded and continued about his merry way. Awkwardly holding the rose, Hermione shoved it into Aviela's hand—feeling mortified. Aviela toyed with it momentarily before tossing it over her shoulder and shrugging.

"See? Chauvinist. Told you," she said simply before they continued their trek down the corridor.

* * *

Hermione parted from Aviela, making her way to the dungeons where she would have potions with Professor Horace Slughorn. She found it amusingly ironic that in her era as a 6th year, she was due to have him, and in this alternate time, she was scheduled to have him once again.

She readjusted her book bag before walking in and taking a seat at an empty table amongst the others. She pulled out her second-hand potions supplies that Hogwarts had given to her due to her lack of supplies. She arranged her book, parchment, and quill with inkwell neatly on the old wooden desk—occasionally straightening them to perfection every few moments. Class had yet to start, so Hermione observed the throng of students around her.

The class was made up of Ravenclaws and Slytherins. Some students were chatting about, some were rifling through book bags, and others appeared to be trying to stay awake after a long night of celebrating their first week's return to Hogwarts. Among a group of Slytherins sat a boy who looked vaguely familiar to Sirius Black; he sat aloof, his wand twirling in one hand, the other behind his head, and his feet propped carelessly upon the desk. Clearly a descendant of the Black family._ If his looks had not given it away, his actions surely would've._

Before Hermione could ponder further on the subject, Professor Horace Slughorn bustled in with a potions book in one hand and a rather hefty looking travel bag in the other. He was a lot rounder than Hermione had expected. He appeared to be balding—despite his lack of age—and had a walrus-like mustache sitting prominently on his face.

"Good morning, class. Sorry I am late, I ran into a bit of a delay chatting with an old colleague of mine via floo powder. It's quite preposterous how time seems to fly nowadays isn't it?" Professor Slughorn laughed heartily to himself as he rummaged through his leather workbag. The students removed themselves from their huddled groups and took place at tables about the room. Professor Slughorn turned around to face the class.

"Ah, nearly full classes this semester, a nice change to the few who decide to bypass Potions as they grow older." Professor Slughorn waddled throughout the room to a storage cabinet located in the far right corner. As Slughorn searched the cabinet's storage, he spoke to the class.

"I know most classes today are still reviewing material from your previous year, but that can get quite mundane, so to spice things up, I shall introduce you all to the components of a newly created potion," He said as he pulled out various roots, bottled salves, and containers holding finely ground unicorn horns. Although nearly dropping a glass flask—causing the class to flinch at the almost-shattering—Slughorn sat the materials down on his desk and spread them out so the class could clearly see them.

"These components, when brewed together properly, create—"Before Professor Slughorn could finish his finish his explanation, the heavy wooden door to the class creaked as it was pushed open and shut once more. Catching the attention of Slughorn and the students, they all simultaneously turned their heads toward the entrance of the room.

Tom Riddle entered the classroom with a heavily worn, tan book bag slung over his shoulder—his face a mask of indifference.

"Ah, Tommy, my boy, I began to fear you had decided to disregard Potions this year," Slughorn said through squinted eyes as he recognized one of his most-prized students.

"I'm sorry I am late, Professor. I was up in the library doing research on various theories of displacement charms. I suppose the time slipped away from me before I chanced upon the reading material I was looking for," Riddle said expertly as he stood in front of Slughorn and shook his hand in greeting.

"It's quite alright, Tom, I hope you found what you needed for your research—that library can be such a labyrinth, you know," Slughorn chuckled as he pardoned Riddle of any possible room for punishment. "Just take a seat, and we'll begin."

"Thank you, sir." Riddle inclined his head in respect and turned, scouting the classroom for available seating. His preferred place—in the back with the other Slytherins of whom he was more than well acquainted with—was completely occupied. He seemed to almost shoot a slightly heated look from his eyes toward the Black descendant who, in turn, recoiled slightly under the quick gaze. Riddle's face, however, remained indifferent as he turned and place his bag atop the other side of the desk unoccupied by Hermione's belongings.

Feeling bile jump slightly up her throat from the sudden unexpected closeness, Hermione scooted her chair and belongings over to distance herself as far away as possible from Riddle as possible. Riddle, upon taking a seat, began retrieving his things from his bag as Slughorn continued.

"As I was saying, these components, when brewed together properly, create a potion based upon Amortentia—the world's most powerful love potion—but it lacks the same effects. Instead, the potion shows the strength of compatibility between two partnering experimenters."

Slughorn grabbed a mortar and pestle and placed it in front of him. He began adding ingredients to the bowl which Hermione identified as ginger root, mermaid scale ashes, a pinch of unicorn horn powder, and a set of dried doxy wings. He continued as he began to finely ground the ingredients together.

"This particular potion was brought into study and published in the August edition of Potions Today. Having not discovered the full potential of this potion, it is considered as a work-in-progress. The alchemists interviewed for discovering this particular potion requested readers to further contribute to the study by brewing the potion and experimenting its reactions to other ingredients in hopes to develop it—in a controlled environment of course." Slughorn added several frozen, ruby red ashwinder eggs which, when added to the concoction, caused it to smoke slightly and produce a semi-musky odor. A few students twitched their noses as the smell filtered throughout the enclosed room.

"I apologize for the strong smell. Ashwinder eggs tend to be quite strong when added to dried doxy wings. Speaking of which, does anyone know the relationship this potion and Amortentia have in common?" Slughorn questioned the class, but was only met with silence. Riddle, who was busy writing something down, raised his hand nonchalantly whilst writing.

"Oh, come now, surely one of you aside from Tom here has a guess," Slughorn prodded in hopes of drawing out some of the more shy students. With reluctant confidence, Hermione slowly raised her hand—unable to control the urge to answer a question in class that she knew.

"Ah, yes, miss…?"

"Hermione Sivad," Hermione said after clearing her throat.

"Miss Hermione Sivad, would you happen to be able to give ole' Tom a run for his money?" Slughorn chuckled.

"The relationship between both potions is the root component of frozen ashwinder eggs. Ashwinder eggs, when properly frozen with a suitable charm, are very useful in love potions or in other potions of the same caliber. Another common use for an egg is to be eaten whole as a cure for ague." Hermione finished her explanation slightly breathless.

Professor Slughorn stood there for a moment slightly baffled by her sudden burst of unexpected knowledge. The feeling of pride in impressing a teacher filled her.

Riddle, who was once head-down and focused on his notes, stopped writing midsentence as his interest was also piqued. He looked at her from the corner of his eye, observing her as she awaited Slughorn's approval. After blinking several times, Slughorn finally surpassed his initial reaction to speak.

"Absolutely splendid!" Slughorn said with a baffled laugh. "Excellent! You must study on your own time, like Tom here. But, I haven't had you in any classes throughout the previous years; I surely would have recognized talent like this early on!" Slughorn laughed jovially. "You must be the new transfer student sorted into Ravenclaw I presume?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," Hermione said graciously as her efforts to fight a small smile from creeping onto her face failed.

"Excellent! You'll make a fine edition to this school, why, you might even rival Tom when it comes to holding the top spot! Ho ho ho!" Slughorn chuckled once more. Upon hearing Slughorn's remark, Riddle's eyes became slits as he continued his writing. "Oh, and twenty points to Ravenclaw!"

Hermione couldn't contain a smile as she saw several Ravenclaws beaming at her for receiving the awarded points.

"I believe the mixture has set for at least five minutes, now all I have to do is add a single drop…" Slughorn commentated as he took a bulb-syringe and inserted it into a flask of clear shimmering liquid, withdrawing a droplet, "...of phoenix tears and allow it to sit for a day." Slughorn let the potion's reactants simmer slowly, then poured them in a pewter cauldron, shut the lid, and locked it high in a shelved cabinet so that it may brew unbothered.

"These are the base components to make a basic compatibles' potion. To examine the bond between two people, one must place a "piece" of them and their person of choice into the mix—whether it is a hair, a toenail, or skin. In this way, it relates itself to the infamous Polyjuice Potion," Slughorn said as he dusted his hands off on his robes and turned back around to the class. "Your final exams for this Potions' semester will be to successfully brew, alter, and test the potion on an assigned partner. Not only will this benefit your final grade and understanding of your fellow companions, but it will also contribute further to the study of this newly discovered potion.

"I am expecting a log on the brewing of the base potion, and detailed explanations of the ingredients you choose to add to the mixture, their reactions, and any other techniques used. We will test you're group's finalized potion in class under supervised vision before the Christmas holidays," Slughorn spoke as he produced a piece of parchment from his desk and stood at the front of the class.

"Now I will assign you into boy-girl pairs," He said, clearing his throat. The students sat up anxiously, awaiting Slughorn to announce the groups they were to be assigned to. "Borin Tuffden, Milda Resine. Ida Poler, Hadrian Black. Kingsley Hester, Leah Spencer…"

As Professor Slughorn called out the pairs, various dissatisfied shrieks and groans filled the room. Not only was he naming pairs by opposing gender, but also by opposing houses. He chuckled slightly at the whines filtering the room, but continued.

"Arto Gallort, Freya Hilde. And finally, Hermione Sivad and Tom Riddle." Hermione's heart sunk as she heard their names paired together. She knew she had a mission to accomplish and that this would be her prime opportunity, but she didn't wish to go about it this way—forcibly. "Now, if any of you have any more questions feel free to ask me after class. I should have your cauldrons and ingredient stock prepared by tomorrow, so make sure to stop by before dinner in the Great Hall and pick up your supplies with your partners. "Until then, I will see you all tomorrow when we will be learning about the exciting properties of the flobberworm!"

The bell rang signaling the end of class. Hermione stood and began putting her things into her bag. She breathed a slight sigh of relief upon remembering she had lunch in the Great Hall next. Sitting an entire class period beside Tom Riddle had her nerves frazzled and her energy drained.

"Miss Sivad, you're astuteness in class today was very refreshing to see. Usually we don't have many students that educated in potions by their 6th year. I am quite impressed," Slughorn spoke to Hermione as she finished packing up and pulled her bag over her shoulder.

"Thank you, sir," Hermione said kindly.

"Yes, yes. I was so impressed that I would like to extend any invitation to my social gathering of elite students a week from today. Only the highest caliber of student is given this offer you know," Slughorn leaned in and chuckled slightly—almost as though he were telling an amusing secret. "I would be honored if you agreed to attend our first get together of the year."

"Thank you, sir; I most certainly will consider it," Hermione said modestly in gratitude.

"Splendid! I will send word of the when's and where's by the end of the week. I am glad you will be attending! But, I must go; I have to finish that chat with my colleague. We ended on a sour note, mustn't upset our connections, eh? Ho ho! Goodbye, Miss Sivad!" With that, Slughorn swept out of the room, leaving Hermione standing alone and wondering what exactly had just happened.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts and vowed to consider his proposition later this week. Hermione crossed the threshold out of the room when a smooth voice caught her ear.

"So, Professor Slughorn extended an invitation for you to join the Slug Club? Hm… I did think the club was getting a bit _too_ exclusive," Riddle said coolly as he leaned slightly against the wall. Unsure of his exact intentions, Hermione remained quiet, her eyebrows furrowed in curiosity, and turned toward him. Riddle pushed off from the wall.

"Then again, maybe Hogwarts is just becoming more frequent to hidden potential nowadays… At any rate, I apologize for my rude behavior upon our first encounter. I am Tom Riddle, and you are the infamous Hermione Sivad I've heard continuously about?"

"Y-yes, I am." Hermione worked hard on keeping her composure unwavering—though with great effort.

"It seems you have already impressed a lot of professors and students already, congratulations." Hermione was unsure if his congratulatory statement was sarcasm or honesty, but replied with a "thank you" nonetheless.

"It also appears we will be… partners on our Potions' final."

"Yes, it does." Hermione stated awkwardly. But her awkwardness didn't seem to affect Riddle, in fact, he seemed to not even notice.

"I am sure these next few weeks of term will be… interesting for certain." Riddle said with a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Hermione felt very uneasy at his response, but swallowed her paranoia.

"Yes… I am sure it will be," Hermione said, giving a farewell nod and dismissed herself from Riddle's presence.

Hermione finally turned the corner out of Riddle's line of sight, but he remained in his spot until she disappeared from vision. Riddle's mouth turned down and his brow knitted together tightly. He was no fool. He knew falsities when he saw them, and this one simply came in the form of a very unusual young woman. His plans would require intricate weaving to make them come together, but he would not let anything stand his way. Time was of the essence, but Tom knew the importance of his task; his importance to place his mark upon Hogwarts—one that would be remembered years to come.

His plans were nearly complete and he had little doubt of the success rate failing. But stranger things were occurring at Hogwarts. He could feel it stirring within him. Something was not right. He felt it deep within his bones. He hadn't deduced much from the sudden appearance of the unusual girl on Hogwarts grounds that stormy evening, but he knew one thing for certain: Hermione Sivad wasn't exactly what she claimed to be. There was more to her than what was known by word of mouth, and until his plans would be put into full action, he would make it his mission to uncover the truth of Hermione Sivad.

Riddle twirled his wand in hand momentarily before holding it firmly by his side. He smirked to himself. These next few weeks were going to be most _interesting_ for both him and Hermione Sivad, indeed.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please comment, subscribe, bookmark, or leave a kudos! They bring my heart joy and help me stay motivated. <3


	12. Apocalyptic Warning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Nyoka bond, Hermione is plagued by voices, and Riddle closes in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for all of your support! I get so excited to come back and see my story stats and comments! This story has now broken 1000 views, so THANK YOU! I hope you all enjoy this new chapter. I'll post another tomorrow!
> 
> Fun fact: Majority of the chapters in this fanfiction are names of songs that I listened to while I wrote and that inspired me to write them! They are mostly instrumentals, but I thought I would share that interesting bit. :)
> 
> **Not all Pottermore, Fantastic Beasts, and Cursed Child content is included in this story--this is AU, please be aware.**

As the week came to a close, Hogwarts' students had settled in quite nicely. The classes were already issuing their semester projects and plans for a Halloween ball were already in the works. Everything was finally going smoothly—save for the world of Hermione Granger.

Between focusing on her studies, not blowing her cover, and keeping a steady eye on a sneaky, corrupt, young dark lord, she had her work cut out for her from the start. Juggling these three feats at once was already making Hermione exhausted and feeling spent. There was only so much she could take after all she had been through in the past few months.

With a deep sigh, she allowed her head to fall into her hands. Nyoka slithered among the towering books upon the desk until she came face to face with Hermione's hands. Nyoka's tongue flicked in and out with curiosity.

"_You are weak_," Nyoka said plainly. Instantaneously, Hermione's head rose out of her hands and she shot Nyoka a look of contempt.

"I am not weak…" she said defensively—the statement, striking an unknown chord within her, "I am simply tired. That's all…"

"_So that's what you humans refer to near-death as… tired, simply_," Nyoka concluded in doubt.

"No… Maybe I am a little drained. I could use a break from this madness," Hermione said shoving a book of astronomical theory away from her.

"_And I could use a break from this dingy boarding room._" Nyoka began to slither toward Hermione.

"Who said you were coming along?"

"_The mice I find within the walls are satisfactory, but what I crave is to feel the earth once more. You know I ask for little, Miss Hermione_." Nyoka hissed in a reminiscing manner.

"Using your charm to appeal to my sense of kindness and guilt. Clever. But, you'll have to do better. Next time I won't be won over so easily." Hermione smirked and held open the pocket of her robes, allowing Nyoka to slither off the desk and inside with ease.

Hermione left the room and crossed the common room where a group of students sat, chatting about and wasting away their Saturday afternoon over boxes of Bertie Bott's and wizard's chess. Hermione felt a lump rise in her throat as she remembered wasting away what little break time she had in front of a similar fireplace with two distant faces. She swallowed hard and focused on her destination so the sadness wouldn't consume her.

She quickly walked down the hall, saying hello to a few students she had become acquainted with over the past week. Making it to the entry way of Hogwarts was a relief. She quickly jogged to the two large, wooden doors and opened them both allowing the afternoon overcast to light the foyer. She breathed in the air rushing off the lake and smiled.

She clamored down the steps and ran to the grassy banks off the lake. She shed her robe and laid it on the ground so Nyoka could slither out in an unsuspicious manner. She plopped down and reclined back into the hillside—ignoring the fact that her hair would collect the grass and twigs like a fleece blanket in winter.

She let the cool air fill her senses with such a familiarity that if she dared to close her eyes, she would almost believe everything was alright again. Hermione scoffed at her own thoughts. Her longing for home was something that continuously broke her heart with every slight pang of nostalgia.

She brought her hands up to her head, allowing her fingers to gently massage her temples, calming her nerves and easing her all in one. Not once had she contacted Riddle to begin work-despite having picked up the supplies Slughorn had prepared for the groups. Their semester project for Slughorn seemed to be challenging, but if she had to, she would do the whole project herself just to avoid coming in close contact again. She knew her duties; she knew the path that would lead her home sooner. But the path paved with good intentions was shrouded in darkness and worst of all—uncertainty. In accepting this mission, though Dumbledore had never mentioned it, a silent acknowledgement was within the fact that she might _not_ return.

She may never see her friends and family again; she might never feel their hands in hers as they walked on a sunny day. The warm laughs that filled the common room as Fred and George did something absurd—and hardly legal. The look of embarrassment on Ginny's face as she often ran into the Boy Who Lived. Ron chasing Pigwidgeon as the fluffy snitch teased him with a parcel he just brought to be delivered. Mrs. Weasley's homemade tarts she served oft on winter holiday. The dusky evenings Hermione spent with her parents walking about the London shops. The feel of Crookshanks' bushy tail slapping her repeatedly in the face as she lay on her stomach studying during the summer.

She even missed butting heads with Draco Malfoy. She never considered him as truly evil—or even a threat. He was more of a nuisance to her and the rest of the trio, but even now, Hermione missed the simplicity of dealing with such frivolous things. She missed having the chance to become spastic over small things. She missed laughing until she couldn't take it anymore, she missed being able to let her emotions show, she missed _life. _She missed what it felt like to live, to be free. She wished she had never taken those things granted like she once had, for she would give anything to have them back now.

Hermione rolled onto her side and let the tears flow freely. They poured down her face haphazardly as she lay on her side. She tasted the salty sweetness as they slid past the corners of her mouth. She began to feel choked sobs nearly escape her lips, and in response, brought her hand to her mouth and bit down with fervor in order to disable them.

As the sorrow waned, her sobs began to become more out of anger than sadness. She had been on this mission for only a week, and already she is breaking down at the scene. _If Dumbledore were here, he'd be ashamed at the sight of my weakness. And I wouldn't blame him._ Hermione scolded herself with lies.

She continued to lie on her side, the sobs were now stifled, but the tears still flowed steadily. Her mouth was set in a hard line and her brows furrowed in thought as she felt a small, sleek familiar body slither up beneath her chin. Nyoka flicked her tongue against Hermione's chin a few times in small attempts to console her master, and then instead, decided to coil up into the underside of her cheek and provide company.

"Nyoka… did you have any family back home?" Hermione asked the small snake, her voice shaky from the bout of crying she had just had.

"_I do… or I did. They all moved on. Where you had found me, Miss Hermione, was my birth home—where I originally hailed from... My home is no longer here, Hermione_," Nyoka hissed quietly in a solemn tone. "_I know the smells of the salty lake, the feel of the grass on my underbelly, the taste of home, but my home is no longer here._"

Hermione's brows knitted tightly in confusion, "What do you mean?"

"_Beneath the willow tree, was my home. It was my safe haven, my place of rest. My home is not here."_

Hermione looked up. The tree that should have rested by the rocks of the lake was not there.

"_No wood rooted deep into the ground, no soil disturbed. I have never witnessed anything like this. I have always known my home. It's as though time has reverted itself."_

Guilt flashed across Hermione's face. She had not been the cause for usurping the serpent from its home, but she could have been more careful. Now there were two beings out of their proper place in time, and this was not good at all.

"I… I'm sorry Nyoka. You're right. Things have changed and neither of us should _truly_ be here… but we are," Hermione sniffled up the last bit of sadness within her, then sighed and sat up. She looked at Nyoka who now was uncoiled, and on her haunches, paying close attention to the brunette-haired girl. "We are a long way from home, and I am sorry this happened, but truthfully, I am glad to have someone by my side." She offered Nyoka a small smile.

It was true, the snake may not have been the best companion, nor the most useful or resourceful, but she was someone Hermione knew. Someone she could talk to at the end of the day.

Nyoka looked up at Hermione swaying from side to side. Hermione knew that if snakes had the ability to smile, the broadest grin would have rested on the small serpent's face.

Neither of them needed to speak anymore. It was clear. A silent bond was formed between them—one that was more than master and servant. No, it was certainly more than that. It was friendship. Something Nyoka's kind never knew from her master's ancestry. It was an odd friendship, given the circumstances, the past, the present, and the future before them, but it was a friendship nonetheless. Hermione knew that she would never admit she was a parseltongue, but for now, she settled with accepting it.

Hermione stood up and brushed off her skirt. She felt the essence of earth entwined within her curly, bushy locks in the form of leaves and twigs. So she begrudgingly picked out the largest pieces and vowed to brush her hair as soon as she made it back. Nyoka slithered passed her and back into the pockets of the robes upon the ground. Hermione then picked up the cloak, pulled it on with ease, took a deep breath, and walked along the shore back toward the castle feeling a little bit lighter and more at ease than she had for days.

* * *

Later that night, Hermione found herself in the library studying the art of creating love potions and the different levels of love potions in existence. She was studying in the hope that she may be able to finish Slughorn's project on her own with Riddle interfering only slightly. But in the pit of her stomach, she knew there would be more complications than planned. She pulled out the pamphlet containing the new love potion study that Slughorn had copied for the students from _Potions Today_.

Upon her reading, she had found that the milder forms of the potion that they would be brewing could be worn like a perfume or cologne—making the wearer more appealing to their desired suitor. _So that is why Slughorn put the students into pairs that hardly liked one another... __Clever. _Hermione silently praised Slughorn's cleverness. She noticed that the ingredients listedwere almost exact to a modern day love potion—save for the fact that they were in smaller doses and a lot less concentrated. The only true difference was that the brewer—whom is also assumed to be the wearer—has to add a 'piece' of the desired suitor, such as a hair, toenail, or skin even.

She then moved onto a book that she had pulled from the libraries shelves called _Liquid Love _by Selpha Marvick. Hoping to find love potions that could act as perfumes, Hermione flipped to the index. Once she found the page she needed, she turned to it and dove in. The chapter on potion that could be applied externally carried a lot information on past failed experiments and successes. As she read on one of the successful potions, she flipped the page to continue reading, but the passage ended abruptly.

"_The Ministry of Magic has still yet to identify this rather simple potion as a certified, safe-to-brew love potion due to the long-term, drug-like and addictive effects of its usage. Though it is still rumored that the product is brewed and bottled in the underground markets and often make their way into stores without the knowledge of officials. A number of witches and wizards have believed this due to the love-at-first-sight feeling when meeting a stranger on the town after purchasing and applying bottled perfumes and colognes. These cases are still under investigation. _–circa 1896"

Finding hardly any helpful information for the project, Hermione closed the book with a huff. She might be on a mission, but she was still at school, and being Hermione Jean Granger, she would strive to do the best in her class—regardless of circumstance. Even though the pamphlet included the base ingredients and brewing instructions that were considered "_safe as tested by master potioneers," s_he wondered how Slughorn got Dippet to accept his request of allowing students to conduct an experiment to be submitted to be submitted to _Potions Today-_even if the class was an advanced class. Hermione was left to assume that it was Dippet's hope for a student to be successfully and Hogwarts to be put in the limelight.

Though not so helpful for the project, Hermione still had a feeling that the information could contain somewhat useful material for later on, therefore she tore a black string off the tail of her used, tattered robes and bookmarked the page with it. She slid the book back in place on the dusty shelf for safekeeping and walked to the front of the library.

The day had already grown dark and students were filing back to their dorms. A lot of the first year students scurried frantically to enter their common rooms—whether it was from fear of the dark, isolated halls, or older, patrolling prefects, Hermione didn't know, but she remembered having the same feelings as a first year.

She shook her head and laughed to herself. If only had she known the true evils she would come to see in these past few years, she wouldn't have been so frightened of such simple things. She now knew of the _true _evils that walked the earth. The true evils that stood by your bedside while you slept. The true evils that waited for you to hit your lowest point then strike. Just like the true evil that walked these very halls. When it came down to it, she felt just like a frightened first year all over again—her knowledge going against her. Rather than comforting her, her own wisdom had brought back the fears she had once thought were unfounded. The nightmares and the monsters that were under her bed, the ones that had never existed, she found to be coming alive slowly with each passing day.

She felt the fear creep up her throat in the form of bile. She rested her head in her hand and found herself slightly dizzy. What Hermione thought was her own doing of scaring herself sick, she found to be very much real. A heavy weight crashed down on her as she hit the stone wall, searching for support. Her breathing felt labored and time seemed to slow as the empty corridor blurred around her. She sorely regretted not having Nyoka with her—someone who could perhaps snap her back to reality.

Without warning, a voice suddenly ripped through the air in a powerful whisper.

"_The answers you seek are hidden in these very walls… I have seen your face… I know you… He knows you… And they are coming..."_

She grabbed her head in pain as the voice reverberated off the silent halls of her own mind. She tried to move forward while feeling the wall for balance, but she couldn't. Her body grew heavier. She fell to her knees, hitting the cobblestone painfully. She shakily attempted to raise her hand—fighting the feeling of hundreds of pounds of pressure weighing on her. Hermione moved her hand to the pocket of her robes and grasped the familiar, wooden grip on her wand.

She attempted to withdrawal it from her pocket, but couldn't find the strength. She began to fear the worst, and in her own last attempts, decided to try the only solution that came to mind. She squeezed her eyes tight as pain coursed through her head again.

"_They are coming… They are coming for—"_

"_Libera nos!" _Hermione shouted in her mind. The feeling of the weight lifted off of her and the voice was hushed—leaving only a ringing in her ears. She sighed heavily; half in exhaustion from the overwhelming feeling that came over her and half in thankful disbelief: the spell she had just used wasn't even real. Well, not until _now_ anyway.

The previous year when Harry's nightmares had become more and more intense, she had grown progressively worried. Their fears were realized when Harry found himself embodied as Nagini in one of his visions and when Voldemort took control of him momentarily at the Ministry. Hermione then retreated deep into the bowels of the library. After intently researching and going through hours of testing different wand-work and incantations, she thought she had created the right formula for her counter-curse: an anti-possession charm. The only problem was she never had been given the opportunity to try it—until now.

The remaining question was, had she almost been possessed? If so, then by who? The voice that still rung in her ears had not been that of Riddle—or any other wizard she knew first-hand for that matter. But, she couldn't shake the feeling that she had heard the voice before—almost as though in a dream even.

She was clueless, but one thing she was certain of was the fact that she had the wand-work completely wrong. The swishing and sashaying of her wand she had done in the past was not the key. The key was the strength of the mind rebelling against the force.

Or maybe she had just gotten lucky. Hermione didn't know and at this point she didn't even care. She was just thankful for the ordeal to have ended as quickly as it did.

She straightened herself back up on her feet and attempted to tidy her robes. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand to collect the sweat dewing on her now flushed face. She then tried to smooth down her hair the best she could.

"Who knew Hermione Sivad did favors after hours? Certainly not me, but good to know," A sadistic voice dripping with poisoned honey spoke.

Hermione immediately jerked her head up to see who could only be Hadrian Decimus Black followed by Abraxas Malfoy and a small group of Slytherins behind them. They were all laughing, snickering, and looking her up and down—save for Abraxas who chose to roll his eyes at the troublesome entourage. She had once seen Hadrian's face and name upon the family tree in a room within the House of Black. His portrait had clearly not been blasted off, therefore she could only assume if he was awful at this point, he never changed.

She looked down at herself. Her raggedy knee-high socks had fallen down slightly, revealing reddened, floor-worn knees, clothes in disarray, her cheeks still flushed, and hair a mess. Of all times to have been confronted by Riddle's followers, it had to be now. Her face hardened into a mask of anger.

"What are you-? How dare you even accuse me? You have no right—"

"If you're still doing favors later, maybe you and I can meet up in dungeons. I could teach you a thing or two about wand techniques." Hadrian said in a mockingly seductive tone as he stepped toward her, invading her personal space and reaching out to brush her hair from her face. Hermione's lips thinned and her eye grew wild as she was ready to pull her wand out from her sleeve the moment he barely touched her.

"That's _enough,_ Decimus." A stern voice came in from the back. The Slytherins parted like water to allow the young man through. Riddle stood tall and powerful amongst the other boys—his prefect badge gleaming in the light. His eyebrows were furrowed tight and his mouth was formed into a hard-line.

"Tom, you know I am just messing around with her." Hadrian said as he stepped back to appease his leader. Hermione's eyes grew wide.

"Yes and your weak attempts of wooing a woman is quite an embarrassing scene to witness. You really should be on your way." Riddle said lightly with a wave of the hand as the rest of the crowd chuckled in the background. Despite his comedic gesture, his eyes gave away the seriousness of his intent, and Hadrian didn't miss it either. The Black heir frowned and nodded, turning on his heel and leaving the scene, exiting around the corner from which he came.

"The rest of you, return back to your dorms. I'll escort Miss Sivad back safely to her common room." The crowd cleared out. Before leaving, Abraxas placed a firm hand on Riddle's shoulder and nodded. Riddle, in turn made eye contact in acknowledgement.

Hermione didn't know whether to feel relieved or not. One Slytherin was definitely better than a whole troop, but this wasn't any ordinary Slytherin either. Regardless, she let a heavy sigh and prepared herself to procure her wand at any time.

She detoured around Riddle to continue on before he brought her attention back.

"No thank you then, I assume?" Riddle said with a slight smile in his voice. Hermione turned back on her heel.

"Thank you for what? For you calling off your lackeys at an opportune moment?" Hermione laughed at the notion of truly thanking him in any form.

"Quite petulant aren't we? Usually I find others more than appreciative of my services." He said with a handsome smile that Hermione had learned to loathe down to her very core.

"Well, in that case, thank you for your omnipresent existence. May Hogwarts feel safe under your watch tonight." Hermione said sarcastically. All hints of a smile quickly faded from his face as wretched anger masked it.

He strode forward powerfully toward Hermione. At that point she had already pulled her wand out and put it at arm's length—separating the two of them. She tried to look intimidating but fear betrayed her as it crept upon her face.

Her wand poked him in the chest as he stepped once more. He laughed sadistically.

"As cute as this little Gryffindor show of bravery is, we both know you are outmatched. You are afraid, Hermione Sivad. It is written across your face," Riddle hissed through his teeth. "You're emotions are splayed out. You're like an open book to read—except for one thing. There is something I can't place my finger on." He was now circling her, and in turn, Hermione rotated as well—pacing in a circle, never allowing her back to face him.

"Even now you are acting as though I am about to kill you where you stand," Riddle chuckled darkly, almost seductively. Hermione faltered in her steps nervously and quickly found Riddle behind her. She felt his hot breath on her ear. "I could you know. I could kill you where you stand right now." Hermione shook slightly from fright and dreaded anticipation.

"But I won't," he said simply. Hermione felt Riddle step back and circle until he faced her once more. She lowered her wand slowly to her side, but never once loosened her grip.

"I won't because there is more to you Hermione Sivad. More I wish to know. I see potential in you. You may not surpass me in skill, but my… _friends_ are very much lacking. You could certainly be a beacon to them. I can't see why you are so afraid of me, so intent on avoiding me. But you can't hide these things forever."

Hermione swallowed hard and averted her eyes. She was tired, she was finished, she was ready to plunge a knife in his dark heart and end it now. But that's not the way Dumbledore would have wanted it. Dumbledore had looked at her like her thought that maybe she could appeal to his humanity, to the side of him that was _good_. Hermione couldn't see that, so how could Dumbledore?

She felt a pressure on the walls of her mind—like a force trying to slip its way in. She retaliated by pushing the force back effectively.

"Touchy," Riddle chuckled, clearly impressed. Hermione frowned. She felt the threat fade away and cautiously placed the wand back inside her robes.

"Consider my offer, Hermione, it's nothing short of exclusive, I assure you. But for now, we must part ways; I will see you at the Slug Club dinner next week then, yes? Maybe then we can discuss arrangements for our class project," Riddle said smiling and inclining his head toward her in a way to appease to her sense of reason. "Until then, Miss Sivad." Riddle then walked around her and headed toward the library.

Hermione took a deep breath. The inconvenience of running into him unprepared was becoming more and more frequent—but then again, she began to wonder if she would ever be prepared. He was such a confusing individual. One minute he would be boiling over with rage, and the next a smile would be on his face. His mad-man disposition made Hermione uneasy.

She needed to calm herself. She was never going to complete this mission the way it was meant to be completed if she maintained the same tendencies when facing him. A pointed wand and insults would never go well, she knew this, but then again, she did not want to play niceties with the Dark Lord.

Hermione started walking back toward the Ravenclaw Tower. How would she fix things from this point on? Especially after their most recent confrontation. She needed to come up with a good explanation and fast. _It better be a pretty damn good one, Hermione_. She chastised herself for her ignorance.

With a reminder to brush up on her acting skills, Hermione thought back to the event that occurred before Black had begun patronizing her. She remembered the voice, the words it had spoken to her. _The answers you seek are hidden in these very walls… I have seen your face… I know you… He knows you… And they are coming. _It sounded vaguely familiar in concerning the prophecy Dumbledore had spoken of months prior. Could it somehow tie-in? Could prophecies stretch across the laws of time? She had so many questions, yet no answers. But one thing was final: something was coming, and it was coming fast, and if Hermione didn't find the right allies in enough time, she would stand no chance against the force that was to come.


	13. Game Changer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione signs up for the Halloween Ball committee, Riddle is an ass--per usual, and Hermione has a revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a great time yesterday, playing D&D with other Extra Life charity participants, but I didn't get a chance to post in all the craziness. I am hoping to get two chapters up today at the very least. Thank you all for your support, for sticking around, and for you input on my ff! I truly appreciate it!
> 
> Onto the good stuff!
> 
> **Not all Pottermore, Fantastic Beasts, and Cursed Child content is included in this story--this is AU, please be aware.**

"Hello? Hermione? Were you even listening?" A voice chirped, pulling Hermione back to reality.

"Hm? What?" Hermione quickly redirected her attention back to the small, fair-haired girl sitting across from her. "I'm sorry, Aviela, my mind has been wandering about today." She offered an apologetic shrug.

"It's alright. I mean, with all that pressure on you from Slughorn's big project and adjusting to a new school, my head would be spinning like a top!" Aviela said understandably. As the clock chimed, food magically appeared—covering the expansive surfaces of the four tables lining the Great Hall. Christopher, who sat quietly beside his twin sister Aviela, quickly grabbed a plate and began loading it with mounds of eggs, a number of sausage links, and gravy. Unlike his short, bubbly, energetic counterpart, he was tall, clumsy, and shy. Hermione had grown to admire both of their personalities over the past week. Aviela reminded her of a tolerable Lavender Brown, while Christopher reminded her of Ron in many ways. They both tugged at her heartstrings occasionally, often leaving her wishing for home, but after her recent revelations, she had come to the conclusion that if she truly wanted to give homage to those she loved, she must succeed in what she was sent to do.

Hermione found herself falling back into deep thought, so she snapped herself back to reality by grabbing a plate of her own and helping herself to a mound of biscuits and some jam.

"So are you in for joining the Halloween Ball committee?" Aviela asked through cheeks filled with food. "They say that this year is supposed to be the best yet. Christopher is even joining to help out!"

Christopher, who was gulping down orange juice, choked slightly and sat his glass down.

"I am?" He asked confusedly as he disregarded his napkin and instead used the sleeve of his jumper to wipe away the juice that had settled on his upper lip.

"Of course! And Hermione should too. It's going to be a blast! Plus, if it's going to be as big as they say it is, they'll need all the help they can get." Aviela crossed her arms as-a-matter-of-factually.

"Sure, I'll help. Who knows, it could actually be fun." Hermione said before taking a bite of her jam-filled bread.

"Great! There is supposed to be a meeting today in the Great Hall after evening classes! Make sure to be there!" Aviela said as she stood up rather excitedly and grabbed her crocheted, tan purse that she had informed Hermione she made herself over summer holiday.

"But I still haven't—! Oh, sod it," Christopher said in a defeated tone followed by shoving a spoonful of eggs into his mouth stubbornly.

"You never had a chance," Hermione giggled. Christopher blushed slightly at her laugh. "But, hey, at least we can all try to make it fun, right?"

"I hope so," Christopher sighed as the blush crept back down his face.

"Well, I better get to Transfiguration. Minerva promised she'd teach me how to turn a teacup into a wool jumper. See you, Christopher!" Hermione said with a cheery smile and wave, Christopher, in turn, dropped his toast bashfully, but still managed a wave.

Hermione walked down the hall purposefully to the Transfiguration classroom. Since she had formulated a plan, she felt better about going about everything. It would take time to get close to the young Dark Lord, but she knew she had better accept any and all opportunities—or at least the ones that wouldn't get her killed. She was still nervous and scared out of her wits. She knew her plans could fail, but then again her plan wasn't really a _true_ plan. It was a matter of successfully winging it. That was really her plan, but she had formed some response and line to follow for the on coming months, and hopefully, it would be straight, narrow, and quick. Everything would happen in its own time, but then again, that is one thing that frightened Hermione.

She entered the class lost in thought once more, until a familiar, warm voice brought her back.

"Good morning, Miss Sivad. I take it you have been adjusting well, yes?" Albus Dumbledore smiled through his auburn beard. He had found out her secret of being a time traveler on the first day of her arrival. Having someone know of her situation made her feel more assured, and thankfully that someone was Dumbledore. She knew she couldn't say much to him due to the course she was charting, but having someone other than Nyoka in on the situation made her feel less alone on her mission at least.

"I have, Professor. Slughorn even invited me to join the Slug Club." Hermione replied, trying to seem enthusiastic.

"Ah, yes. I've heard mention of your extensive knowledge and success in the classrooms, well done." Dumbledore said with a smile, but Hermione caught the underlying warning he carefully placed in his words. He knew she was an intelligent girl—that much was evident—but he was advising her not to make a spectacle of herself. He had his own suspicions of the school and some of its students, and attracting unwanted attention to her could pose future problems.

"Thank you, sir." She nodded in understanding. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled slightly. Hermione took her seat next to Minerva McGonagall who smiled at her and slid a piece of parchment across the desk. As Hermione sat she looked down at the crudely drawn sketch of a jumper with teacups all over it and a note which read, "What you _don't_ want to happen." Hermione and the young McGonagall tried to stifle their laughter as they both nodded in agreement to meet up after class and try it out.

"Alright, class, today we will bgin by transforming brooms into whistling kettles!"

Hermione had gone throughout her day with no incident—not so much as even a run-in with the troublesome group of Slytherins that were the Knight of Walpurgis. She had seen a few of the boys she had recognized walking the corridors or sitting in the back of classrooms, but what caught her attention was the absence of the tall, dark-haired boy with that all-too-familiar unwavering expression.

Come to think of it, she had not even seen him in Potions class that day. Hermione was both relieved and worried. Riddle was known for being a prompt, model student and to see him missing without so much as a whispered word of his name throughout the hallways made her suspicious. She certainly wasn't going to hunt him down—not yet, anyway. She knew he'd show soon, maybe she'd even say she had been looking for him that day to discuss Slughorn's project. Yeah, that would work. Then maybe she could even get a little insight on his whereabouts.

Hermione made her way toward the Great Hall where the Committee meeting would be held before dinner. She did not really have any true desire to be on the panel. In truth, she didn't want to in the least, but she figured that it would help keep her mind off of home. Besides, she didn't want to rain on Aviela's parade, and it could even turn out to be fun.

She walked through the foyer and into the Great Hall. A small group of students sat at two different tables. The one nearest to the center was occupied by Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw students—including Aviela and Christopher. They seemed to be chatting and Aviela—who had a quill in hand and parchment in front of her—appeared to already be scribbling down ideas and suggestions.

At the table furthest to the wall sat Abraxas Malfoy, Hadrian Black, and to her utter surprise Tom Riddle was with them. Abraxas sat atop the table surface, his feet resting on the bench-like seating, appearing bored. Hadrian sat reclined on the opposite bench, his back against the table and a girl on each arm. The left was a raven-haired Slytherin who appeared to be in her fifth year, and the other was a mousy-brown Ravenclaw who had a badge symbolizing her status as Head Girl. Hadrian seemed to be telling a tale that Abraxas had heard many times, for when Hadrian reached certain points in the story, Abraxas rolled his eyes.

Tom Riddle stood on his feet, leaning slightly against the wall behind him. He was obviously just as uninterested in Hadrian's tale as Abraxas was. His mind seemed to be elsewhere as he glanced around the room, from the staff table, to the opposite wall, to the ceiling, and back. He had yet to take note of Hermione, or perhaps, was uninterested in her presence.

Aviela seemed to be caught up in a serious discussion with the Hufflepuff girl sitting across from her. Christopher's head was resting in his palm as he boringly watched the two girls argue about the colors of streamers they should hang across the ceiling.

Hermione took this opportunity for what it was worth and decided to attempt in making civilized conversation with Riddle—or at least an exchange with witnesses present. She took a deep breath and walked over to the wall where Riddle was positioned.

She stood beside him, but not close enough for her personal space to be invaded, and began to look around in the same fashion as he had been. Nervously, she rocked back and forth on the heels of McGonagall's old shoes she had charmed to fit her. Riddle still hadn't said anything to her. She cleared her throat slightly. Still nothing. She turned to look at him and jumped a little when she saw him glaring down at her from his towering height.

"Yes?" Riddle said simply.

"Erm… I just thought I'd say hi. You looked kind of lonely…" _God, Hermione. That was just awful._ Her inner-self cringed at her pathetic attempt at conversation. _But then again, it wasn't everyday one conversed with a dark wizard._

"Hm." Riddle managed in response as his eyes trailed back around the room. _Uppity bastard._ She huffed in her mind, but decided to try again.

"I didn't see you in class today. I thought you might have been sick," She said choosing to look around the room again as well.

"I'm in perfectly good health." He said plainly. Not once looking her way.

Hermione was getting angry now. He was perfectly fine with talking when they were alone—when she was unprepared—but when she attempted at a conversation, prepped and amidst others, it suddenly turned sour. She was baffled by this young man. The others sitting around were still milling about their own ways, not taking note of the one-sided awkward exchange occurring between the two of them.

"Did you need something else?" He said almost seemingly impatient as he turned to her slightly. As much as Hermione wanted to punch him square in his flawless face she chose to go with the latter approach instead.

"I just wanted to apologize for the other night," Hermione forced the words out. Riddle then turned to her looking intrigued.

"Oh?"

"I want to apologize for my actions. It has been… a rough week for me. Things have fallen apart little by little these past few months and I guess it has been catching up to me," Hermione said naturally, because it wasn't a fabricated story, it was the truth. "I guess it's just been tough to get back into the swing of things again. You just… remind me of someone from my past that I am bitter about. I am sorry. I was thinking that maybe we got off on the wrong foot, so can we start over?"

At this point Riddle was smirking and even almost laughing.

"No."

Hermione was taken aback. Had she heard correctly?

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. _No_." Riddle said, half-smiling. Hermione was fuming inside at this point.

"What do you mean _no_? Why not?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Because, _Hermione Sivad_, you are a lot more entertaining to talk to when you're angry." Riddle said as-a-matter-of-factly.

_You're about to see angry…_ Hermione thought in her head, ready to roll up her sleeves and throw-down with the arrogant Slytherin.

"But," Riddle held up his hand and interjected as she opened her mouth to speak, "perhaps we can discuss this topic later. Not now."

He then strode out of the great hall in long, purposeful strides. His robes billowed out behind him at his abrupt departure, making what almost sounded like a faint whispering. Or at least that was what Hermione managed to gather as she watched him leave. She stood there more confused than she had been before.

"Tom can be a difficult bloke to get through to sometimes," a voice drew her attention over to the table beside her. Abraxas was now facing her completely, hands clasped, a slight genuine smile on his face. "My advice? Say what you will to him, he listens, despite what you may think."

"Difficult? Thickheaded, more like it," Hermione huffed. Abraxas laughed slightly at her mounting anger for the young man who had just fled.

"Tom is a good man. Just be patient with him, he'll come around. He isn't as bad as he may seem," Abraxas said genuinely. Hermione wondered how much he actually knew about the herald fallen angel he followed.

"Maybe, but given his rare appearances, I am certain to never find out at this point."

"Well, in that case," Abraxas spoke as he jumped down from the table, "I might be able to help you out."

Hermione lifted her brow curiously.

"On Hogsmeade weekend, we all tend to go have a few drinks in the Three Broomsticks together. You can accompany me as a guest if you'd like. Hadrian usually has a girl or two hanging off him at any given time. Tom wouldn't mind one more tag-along. I mean—not like you are just another annoying girl or something." At this point Abraxas had metaphorically dug himself into a hole and he knew it. He nervously rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

Hermione laughed at his sudden act of embarrassment. The Malfoy she had met so far was suave, but he seemed to have allowed his guard to fall down ever so slightly.

"No, no. I completely understand," Hermione smiled in attempts to quell his nerves. "I would love to. It sounds like it could be fun."

It was quite obvious that accompanying him as a _guest_ was the equivalent to a date. But still, the young Malfoy was attempting to help her out and he was actually considerably good company as opposed to most of the people she had met so far. One casual outing to Hogsmeade wouldn't hurt, and it certainly wouldn't back track her any further than she had already gone.

"Brilliant," Abraxas said enthusiastically. He looked over to see Hadrian walking out of the dining hall, the girls still laughing obnoxiously. "Looks like it's time to head out."

"You aren't staying for the committee meeting?"

"The what?"

"The Halloween Ball committee meeting that is about to start?" Hermione asked confusedly.

"Oh, no. Tom asked us to come here with him. Said he had a few inquiries or something like that," Abraxas said indifferently. "Well, it has been good chatting with you, Miss Sivad. I hope to do it again soon." Abraxas bowed slightly, his polished ways returning.

"Yeah, see you." Hermione said as she watched Abraxas disappear through the exit.

She was very much confused at this point. She was sure they were here for the meeting. If they weren't, then what was Riddle here for? Hermione looked around the room until she met a pair of blues eyes looking back at her. Christopher had been watching her and Abraxas' exchange. She smiled and waved at him, he managed a small smile back, but for a moment, she thought she saw worry flicker in his eyes.

"Alright, looks like that's it for the decoration planning," Aviela smiled as she scribbled the last bit of information on one of the various pieces of parchment lying on the table. "Now all we have to do is present our ideas to Headmaster Dippet and we should be good to go on planning the menu and entertainment!"

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief in her mind. The past hour had not been so much of a communal meeting than it was Aviela and the brown-haired Hufflepuff girl arguing back and forth until they agreed on something. Christopher and Hermione would exchange glances of silent acknowledgement in their hopes of making a hasty escape.

Christopher stood and stretched, his back popped loudly from being in the same position for over an hour. Hermione followed suit and stifled a yawn. The rest of the panel members who seemed to be drug into joining just as Christopher and Hermione had gladly left the hall chatting about.

"Hermione, do you mind walking with me to deliver this to Dippet?" Aviela asked. Her arms were full of parchment inscribed with her hopes for the ball.

"Sure thing," Hermione agreed despite her wish to escape anything committee related. With a wave, her and Aviela parted ways with Christopher until dinner started in an hour.

For a while, they walked in comfortable silence as they ascended numerous flights of stairs, but Hermione couldn't help but feel like Aviela wanted to ask her something.

"So I saw you talking with Abraxas Malfoy," she said with a slight smirk tugging at her lips.

"We spoke," Hermione said plainly hoping not to go there.

"I also overheard him talking about going to get drinks in Hogsmeade," Aviela continued in her own prying way.

"He mentioned it."

"Oh, come on, Hermione!" Aviela spun to face her. "What did you say?"

"Well, he offered to show me around Hogsmeade and making new friends wouldn't be all that bad, so I agreed." Hermione tried to make it sound as politically civil as possible, but unfortunately Aviela wasn't one for simplicities. She wanted truth. Or, the truth in her mind, rather.

"So you're going on a date with the infamous Abraxas Malfoy then?" Aviela smiled. Hermione didn't even bother to fight it. "Seems he's snagged yet another unsuspecting Ravenclaw. It's too bad, I really liked you," she said jokingly.

"Snagged?" Hermione rolled her eyes. "Hardly."

"Hm. You'll see, Hermione. He has a way of charming girls right out of their jumpers."

"I am quite certain you're thinking of Hadrian." Hermione laughed.

"You're probably right." Aviela shared in her laughter.

They continued their trek through the halls, passing the time by talking about classes, Hogsmeade, and Hadrian Black's various rumored escapades until they reached the office entry way guarded by the massive gargoyle. Dumbledore was walking out of the archway as they approached.

"Hello, Professor!" Aviela chimed.

"Evening Miss Goldstein, Miss Sivad," Dumbledore nodded, "You need to see Headmaster Dippet, yes?"

"Yes, sir! We need to deliver the plans for the Halloween Ball so Dippet can see if they are within budget."

"Ah, yes. Well, if you would like, you may send them with me and I'll see that he receives them," Dumbledore said with his hand extended.

"Thank you, Professor!" Aviela gladly handed him the stack of parchment. Hermione knew that the only reason he offered to take them was because in the end, Dippet would have shirked this duty off on to Dumbledore anyway. Dumbledore was just simply cutting out the middleman.

"You ladies run off now, dinner will soon begin." Dumbledore said with a warm smile.

"See you then, sir," Aviela said. Hermione simply bowed her head to the middle-aged wizard as he nodded back and walked away. Aviela turned to Hermione.

"I have a few things to do before dinner, so I'll meet up with you then!" She waved in parting.

"See you then!" Hermione called back, her mind already made up that she would kill time in the library.

A few flights of stairs later, Hermione reached the third floor and walked through the entryway of the library. She gently ran her hand along the various books. Some felt leathery, some were held together with rough-stitched cloth, and others even felt furry like an animal of some sort. The librarian watched her intently, her shrewd expression twitching as Hermione's finger eased across the spines of the books. Hermione fought back a smile and moved to the back of the library to further her whimsical actions.

Even though the librarian was deemed bitter by many of the students, Hermione couldn't help but admire her dedication. The library was very vast, books extended from wall to wall and floor to ceiling. Some books were even over one hundred years old and yet not one speck of dust could be found clinging to the shelves, nor the covers of the books.

A few rows later, Hermione found herself back in the potions section of the books. She milled about looking at various topics until she remembered the tome she had been studying the other day on love potion theory. She started at the top row and scanned down the long line of books. After nearly half an hour of searching she decided to speak to the librarian against her better wishes.

"Excuse me, Ma'am? You wouldn't happen to know the whereabouts of a book called _Liquid Love _by Selpha Marvick would you?" Hermione uneasily asked the busy librarian who was scribbling on different ledgers that were lying upon her front desk.

"Someone has already taken the book," the librarian said sourly, not even bothering to look up at Hermione.

"Oh… alright then. Thank you," Hermione spoke meekly as she turned away from the desk and walked out of the library, head slightly hung from her fruitless endeavors, and vowing to check back a week from now.

* * *

A week passed and the book had still yet to be returned. She had checked that very morning, but her efforts were in vain. When Hermione asked who had the book, the librarian coldly told her that she "could not disclose that information to any student". So she begrudgingly went on about her day, once again deciding to check back later.

"OUCH!" Hermione screeched as Aviela ran the comb through her bushy curls.

"I'm sorry! I swear your hair has a life of its own," Aviela retorted, running the comb through once more.

"If you're so good at beauty charms, why can't you use a detangling one?" Hermione asked through grunts of pain.

"I am! But not even a miracle worker could sort through _this _so easily!" Aviela snapped. Hermione turned and glared slightly at the short, blond-haired girl and cursed herself for not brushing her hair before bed that previous night.

"Is this really necessary? I mean, I am just going to Hogsmeade."

"No, but you _are _going with Abraxas Malfoy. You might as well put in a little more effort than usual. From what I hear, he always treats his date with butterbeer and even sometimes a trinket if he is interested!" Aviela said a-matter-of-factly.

"But, we're just getting to know one anoth— OUCH!" she yelped before sighing in defeat.

Half an hour later, Hermione's hair was less bushy than normal, felt softer to the touch, and even held a slight scent of citrus. The nip in the air had Hermione wearing an itchy wool skirt, scuffed boots, a sweater, and a frayed-sleeved coat and scarf. Aviela had offered to let Hermione borrow an outfit of hers, but she didn't want to impose—or ruin the nice cashmere sweater Aviela had offered her.

Aviela had already run off with Christopher and a few other fellow Ravenclaws. She had vowed to meet up with Hermione later into the Hogsmeade trip. Hermione stood in front of a mirror placed in the corner of her and Aviela's dorm. Her light gray irises reflected back at her. She looked away quickly—almost as though she were stung.

For everyone around her, they were just another set of curious eyes taking in the halls of the massive school, but to Hermione, they were unsettling and cold. It was strange; she could nearly burn a hole through someone with her stare, but found it hard to meet her own gaze. Even after over a month since the headaches and the changing of her eye color, she couldn't help but feel like the eyes were not even her own. It almost felt as though someone else was watching her dance around like a puppet, living her life from the inside out.

She shook her head and instead focused on buttoning her coat. Nyoka slithered out from the cracked stone wall behind her bed frame, tongue flickering all the while. Hermione had been so busy that she had barely noticed Nyoka's absence. Hermione bent down on one knee as the serpent rose on her haunches.

"Hello, Nyoka. How have you been lately?"

"Not so well, Miss Hermione," the snake hissed back. Hermione's brow furrowed and she sat down, perched on her knees.

"What do you mean, Nyoka?" Hermione leaned down closer.

"There have been… voices," Nyoka hissed confusingly.

"Voices? I think you have spent too much time in these walls. Besides, there are hundreds of students chattering at any given hour," Hermione laughed slightly at the serpent.

"The voice is not like the others… It is almost as though it is a faint whisper, yet it seems to grow louder… nearer every day…" The snake hissed with unease.

"Come on, Nyoka," Hermione extended her hand, "you could use time away. I am leaving the castle and we are going to Hogsmeade." When Hermione spoke, the serpent seemed to obey her without question.

"Thank you, Miss Hermione," the snake hissed as she slid into her companion's warm hand and off the cold floor. "Time away sounds nice."

"You're welcome," Hermione said simply as she grabbed her wand and placed a warming charm on the right pocket of her coat.

"I just hate it when the man _speaks_ back," Nyoka hissed right before Hermione slid her into the pocket.

Hermione's heart leapt into her throat and gooseflesh rose upon her skin as the realization dawned upon her.

The year is 1943. The year the Chamber of Secrets was to be opened.


	14. You Are Not Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hogsmeade weekend brings about a new, old friend and spells trouble for Hermione and Nyoka.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and supporting my fanfic! As promised, here is the second chapter for today! I am currently re-reading through my story in preparation to write new content and in an effort to beta any mistakes I missed. Thank you all for being patient with me when you encounter them! I hope you all enjoy this chapter. It is one of my favorites so far. :)

Hermione stood, frozen stiff and scared. How could have she forgotten? How is it possible that she neglected remembering the something as simple as the year? How could she have ever prepared for this—even if she knew at the start?

She closed her eyes tightly trying to shut herself out of every possible sensation she was feeling. She felt herself swaying slightly back and forth, her body being the only thing holding her and keeping her balanced. She listened, unmoving, lips pressed into a hard line. She felt every slight movement as her senses heightened. She felt the friction of scales on cloth as Nyoka squirmed about inside her pocket. She felt the cool air settling on her hot cheeks as the drafty tower swayed with give from its height. She felt the sun pouring in upon her lower half, warming her. She tasted bitterness as she held her mouth shut for too long. She then listened.

She cannot recall how long she stood, but everything crashed upon her as she thought she heard what sounded like a deep menacing hiss far off in the distance. Hermione's mouth opened slightly, a slight, quiet hiss escaped her dry lips.

"_Miss Hermione_?" Nyoka hissed. Hermione snapped from her trance and looked down at her coat's side pocket at the small serpent peeking out.

"What?" Hermione couldn't even recall what she had been formerly doing.

"_You're going to be late._" Nyoka flickered simply. She hadn't heard a thing.

"Right. Hogsmeade." Hermione said, shaking her head.

Hermione adjusted her scarf and left the Ravenclaw tower. She let her body carry her throughout the halls and changing staircases as she pondered her own thoughts and tried to rationalize what to do next. Her pondering continued until a voice pulled her back to reality.

"Hermione, over here!" The voice of Abraxas echoed through the foyer. Near the large doors, she saw a group of students milling about. Hadrian Black stood talking to a group of girls—one whom he had slung his arm over lazily as she bounced up and down giddily, a dark-headed Ravenclaw boy with glasses stood off to the side, and the Slytherin boys whom she remembered as the other members of Walpurgis tried to get the attention of a few of the girls—save for Abraxas who smiled brightly at Hermione as she approached.

"We've been waiting for _hours_! What kept you?" Abraxas exaggerated.

"Oh, the usual. Studying." Hermione shrugged.

"You Ravenclaws need to learn how to live a little. I highly doubt any work you conjure up would be anything short of average—no matter the amount of time put in," Abraxas complimented her. She blushed slightly at his unexpected words.

"I would like to hope so." She smiled. Abraxas smiled broadly at her response and turned back to the rest of the group.

"Is everyone here? Wait—where is Tom? Is he really late _again_? Oh, sod it. He'll catch up." Abraxas shook his head and opened the front door, gesturing for Hermione to go through first. She did and the rest of the students filed suit.

The air was cool and crisp, making Hermione grateful for her thick hair that covered her ears and kept them warm. She rubbed her hands together and whispered a warming charm. Abraxas walked slightly ahead of her, leading the pack. Hadrian talked lowly in the back, but the volume of the girls' chorus of shrill laughter split the air every few moments. Hermione looked behind her at the other students. The Ravenclaw boy shuffled his feet and kicked the leaves as he walked while the other boys looked disgruntled at their failed attempts of wooing Hadrian's followers.

They soon reached the arched gates that greeted everyone into the town of Hogsmeade. The streets were busy with marketers selling various goods. Two small children played with a dog in the background, a robust woman carried a large basket of bread quickly from the bakery, a sketchy thin man in a dirty bowler hat stood near the alleyway, and a young girl licked on a sugar quill as she strolled along. The town hadn't changed much at all.

"Welcome to Hogsmeade, Miss Sivad." Abraxas smiled and held up his crooked elbow. She looked around for a moment and laughed before slipping her hand inside and allowing him to guide her. _Is this what it is like to actually be courted_ _during this era? _Hermione found herself being quite jealous over the formalities she was being shown now in comparison to the future. Her first date consisted of a lot of hands-in-pockets, belching, and awkward contact—though none of it being manufactured from Hermione's side. But then again, this wasn't a date—was it?

The wind blew harsh atop the hill where the town rested, nipping at the knee caps and noses of the students. The congregation shuffled quickly toward the Three Broomsticks. They reached the entrance after a minute or two of walking deeper into the town. Abraxas released Hermione's arm and held the door open for her and the rest of the group. Through a lot of shoving and toe-stepping they all crowded inside.

Hermione took a deep breath. The inn smelled of butterbeer, warmed ale, apple spice, and pumpkin bread. She closed her eyes and smiled. The inn still smelled as it did in her time.

"Shall we?" Abraxas spoke up, breaking up her dream-filled state. He led the group to a large, round, wooden table furthest in the back corner. Abraxas pulled the chair out for Hermione who inclined her head in turn and sat down. Abraxas sat on her left, the boy with glasses sat to her right, and the rest of the group followed suit. When Hadrian seated himself, two of the girls dove, stumbling at the last seats available that sat on either side of him. The three remaining girls who had been following him huffed through gritted teeth in defeat and sat at an empty table a section away.

Hermione felt oddly homey amongst the students. Though they had given her trouble at the start, it was clear that Abraxas' approval was weighing in over Hadrian's perverse nature. But even with this new found place among the Slytherins, she knew deep down that Tom Riddle had yet to make his final decision on her presence among the group. He had yet to even show his face throughout the halls today. She had no doubt of what he was doing, but it was the progress he was making that worried her.

She had been enjoying herself so much that she had forgotten his absence. It was a breath of fresh air no doubt, but if she couldn't reach him through his own people, how could she have a chance at closing in on him? Then again, she felt glad that she could save these events for another day.

Hermione felt Nyoka wriggle in her pocket impatiently. She reached under the table and slightly tapped the pocket to cease Nyoka's sporadic movements—worrying someone would point it out. But, the students' attention was elsewhere.

A sandy-blonde haired woman twirled her way to their table with a flat wooden tray balanced precariously on her fingertips. "Hello Dearies, what can I get you all today?" Her Scottish voice rang out and her springy curls bounced as she halted to a stop. Her hand held a notepad and Ink-filled quill at the ready.

A rotund Slytherin with hungry eyes within the group began to loudly call out his order. "Butterbeers all around! And a loaf of pumpkin bread. And a Danish if you don't mind. Oh, and maybe some of that—"

"Quiet, Arnold! Butterbeers would be fantastic. And a fresh slice of pumpkin bread for the lovely lady," Abraxas smiled as the woman looked at Hermione with an uplifted brow—almost sizing her up.

"Treating another new lass this week, Abraxas? She looks almost too good for you," the twenty-some-year-old waitress winked.

"She is," he said simply, "but you can't blame me for trying." Hermione rolled her eyes slightly and sighed between her amused smirk. When Malfoys go, they go all out.

The waitress walked away to place their order and get their drinks. Hermione turned to Abraxas who was already turned in her direction and reclined lazily in his chair.

"I have to step out to the powder room. I'll be back in a moment," Hermione smiled as she stood up, pushing her chair back. The young Malfoy seemed slightly apprehensive of her quick leave worrying it had been something he said, but nodded back nonetheless.

Hermione excused herself and walked to the back area where the bathrooms were. Once she found the doors labeled for their respective genders, she walked passed them silently until she reached the cellar storage door. She looked behind her quickly for any of the inn's staff before she crouched down, reached in her pocket, and pulled out a slightly rustled Nyoka.

"_Miss Hermione, you need to invest in a new travel method for me. Your pocket is shrinking,"_ Nyoka hissed spitefully.

"Or perhaps you are just growing," Hermione whispered. "Now, this is the Three Broomsticks Inn. The cellar should have plenty of mice and room for you to have a good afternoon. I'll be back by later in the day to get you. Don't get into too much trouble and make sure you stick to strictly the store area. Don't go into the larder or you're likely to be found. All right?" Hermione whispered her instructions and sat her down beside a crack in the cellar door.

"_Yes, Miss Hermione. I shall wait for you, do not worry about me,"_ The snake hissed eagerly as she imagined all the different flavors and sizes of mice that she would find down in the cellar. Hermione watched until Nyoka slithered from sight and stood up. She brushed off her clothes and walked back to the dining section and sat back down at the table.

"Welcome back, Miss Sivad. Company was growing quite lonely without you," spoke an all-too familiar, clean voice. Her heart leapt for a moment as she looked across the table from her and her eyes met the steady, dark gaze of Tom Marvolo Riddle. She knew she must've paled for a moment, so she quickly composed herself and straightened in her chair.

"It's nice to see you as well, _Tom."_ Hermione let his name roll off her tongue. For a moment, he seemed slightly displeased, but no one else seemed to notice as the robust Slytherin known as Arnold shouted, "Food!"

The Scottish waitress from before that carried numerous pints of butterbeer on her tray rounded the table as another waitress followed closely behind with a tray of food. They made quick work of setting the food and drinks down in front of the students. It seems as though they even brought an extra pint out for Riddle.

"If you need anything else just give us a holler, sweetie," the curly-headed waitress said to Abraxas.

"Thank you, Melody." Abraxas inclined his head.

Arnold reached across the table and pulled the mounds of food toward him while the other students talked and sipped the sweet concoctions in their mugs. Hadrian—who seemed to have lost a groupie due to Riddle's appearance—was slightly bored with the attention of only a single female. Hermione could feel Riddle's eyes boring into her, but instead of looking his way, she chose to talk with Abraxas about her classes and recent RSVP to the Slug Club. She occasionally took bites of the powdered-sugar covered pumpkin bread, allowing it to melt into her mouth throughout his portion of the conversation. He was enthusiastic in everything she had to say. She could almost see herself truly becoming friends with a Malfoy.

"By the way, thank you for the invitation. I really am having a wonderful time." Hermione smiled.

"It's my pleasure. Good company belongs with good company. Am I right?" He shouted and raised his mug high in the air. The rest of the boys at the table leaned in with a "Here, here!" and did the same. Their glasses began to meet in the center of the table with a parade of hearty clangs and slight sloshing of the sweet beverages onto the surface of the wood.

Hermione looked across the way at Riddle. He hadn't joined in, but instead sat leaned back in his chair, fingers touching one another so that his hands were in the shape of a triangle resting against his lips making him appear much like a plotting mastermind. Had someone painted a picture, he would have been the look of stoic perfection. Hermione looked into Riddle's dark eyes feeling as though time had slowed around her, reality sinking in.

Here she sat amongst her enemies and future killers. Those who would come to bear descendants that would slaughter hundreds under the Dark Lord's reign clanged glasses together in celebration, just as they would many years from now, but for other reasons. Here she sat at the round table of the Knights of Walpurgis. Complete with their own versions of Ser Galahads, Ser Lancelots, and Ser Tristans—all with their own tales to be told—and at the head of this table sat their high king ruler. He was hardly a figure of Arthurian legend sparked from tales of greatness and triumph through combating of evil. _No._ He was their witch king, their dark knight, and their devious prince in disguise who had strings tied to the tips of fingers for his puppets. All he had to do was _pull _and he would put on quite a show. Hermione knew that, but did he? How far have things gone at this point? She observed the mask of perfection that he wore. Though he was the harbinger of darkness, Hermione could see why this young man was sorely and ruefully mistaken as a messiah during his time.

With a jerk, it almost felt as though time resumed itself as Arnold's glass broke, splashing butterbeer all over his clothes and the floors. Hermione jumped at the sound. Even Riddle flinched slightly.

"You oaf!" Hadrian shouted as he and the soaked, shrieking girl beside him received part of the backlash from the breaking. Everything grew quiet as the whole inn watched the exchange. Hermione felt her face grow hot from the many wandering eyes, until Abraxas broke the silence with hearty laughter. The whole inn followed in his merriment by hitting glasses (though not as hard). Hermione shook her head slightly. _This is going to be time indeed…_

Their visit at the Broomsticks drew quickly to an end as Melody the waitress looked at Abraxas in heated disapproval, signaling them to take their leave before the innkeeper found out. Abraxas had slapped a handful of galleons on the table—not to mention two additional galleons to tip (and cover the broken mug no doubt).

The group filtered out into the streets going their own separate ways: Hadrian ran off toward a back alley with a girl whom Hermione didn't recall seeing at the table, while the other rest of the Slytherin and Ravenclaw troupe scattered about to shop. Hermione, Abraxas, and Tom were the only ones left standing.

"Where to?" Abraxas asked the pair. Tom seemed quite indifferent—if not bored with the situation, leaving Hermione to decide.

"Maybe we could walk around the shops. I'm quite interested as to what Hogsmeade has to offer," Hermione said, playing her role of newcomer well.

"Shopping, _of course_," Riddle scoffed. Hermione's nose twitched a bit at his remark.

"Come on, Tom and I will _gladly _show you around," Abraxas said somewhat-chidingly in reference to Riddle.

They walked down the street and Hermione observed the scenes through the shop windows as Abraxas explained the products they carried. For a moment, she tried to pretend it was Ron and Harry walking with her through the streets, teasingly showing her around the town before they would peek in the windows of Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop and laugh at the many young men who were stranded with their starry eyed captors, seeking quick getaway. _If only._

"And lastly, this is Tomes and Scrolls: a store filled with spell books, unique pieces of literature, and is the number one supplier of the _Daily Prophet_ in Hogsmeade," Abraxas said of the small store that sat on the end of the street. Hermione pushed open the door and walked in.

The building was fresh and the books new. Back home in her time, the building smelled of aging parchments, mildewed pages, and torn bindings, but then again business wasn't booming like it was now. Here it sat in its prime glory. She smiled slightly and browsed for a few moments with no particular object in mind. Abraxas leaned against a shelf near the door reading a copy of the Daily Prophet—the quidditch score section no doubt. Tom had wandered off to his own section of interest. Before long, they left the store and rounded the street again.

As they passed by Galadres Dresses—an upper-end clothing store—Hermione heard a shriek in the form of her name. They all turned quickly to see Aviela standing in the window motioning for them to come inside. Hermione looked back at her two escorts. Tom's eyes were bored, but Abraxas motioned for her to go ahead. She opened the door and they followed her in.

Aviela ran and gave Hermione a hug, nearly pulling her down.

"Aviela! How are you?" Hermione asked through laughs as she struggled not to topple over.

"Fine. Christopher and I've been looking all over for you! Are you enjoying everything so far?" Aviela's more reserved twin, Christopher, stood awkwardly near a mannequin of a woman's bust.

"It has been wonderful. Abraxas and Tom have been showing me around the town."

"How very kind of you, Abraxas," Aviela said sweetly, completely forgoing Riddle's presence. The young Malfoy just laughed earnestly. "I've needed new winter robes for a while, so I thought I might as well get them now—the _Daily Prophet_ is calling for an early winter! Not to mention Christopher ripped his school robes on a branch today during herbology class as well."

"Can we move along now?" Christopher said impatiently already holding a bag in hand.

"Not yet! I have a second opinion now!" Aviela gestured to Hermione. "Come on, you can try a few things on as well!" She was now pulling Hermione by the hand.

"Aviela, really, I insist—" Hermione interjected.

"Come on!" Aviela continued dragging her to the fitting sections. The young men stood sharing in an uncomfortable silence.

Aviela ushered Hermione atop a stepping stool. A plump witch came out from a back room with measuring tape and asked Hermione to remove her coat. She did, despite her own wishes. After a few quick measurements the witch disappeared into the back room again. Hermione looked over at Aviela who was already being assisted by another, thinner witch whom praised the bubbly girl as she modeled a light blue winter cape. She twirled around with a bright smile.

"Hermione, what do you think?"

"I think it looks lovely. It suits you." Hermione smiled. An uneasy feeling took over in the pit of her stomach as she watched the soft material sashay with Aviela's turning. There was no way she'd be able to afford what they offered here. Due to the fact that she came with nothing to her new name, Hermione was registered as a part of the student body that received financial aid. Through this program offered at Hogwarts, it gave students of all backgrounds and home life the opportunity to have an education there. The school gave her money to pay for her lesson materials, books, robes, and spending money for the entirety of the fall semester and Yule holidays, and then some for the spring semester, but not for summer breaks. Though this was a generous offer, the amount given was certainly not enough to splurge with. Hermione knew this was all too true in remembering her small bag of mostly knuts and a few sickles she carried in her coat pocket for the day.

The plump seamstress came out quickly and ushered Hermione into a coat before turning her around to face the mirror. The coat was a bright, ruby red pea coat. It had hand-sewn wooden fastens and a black, velvet-lined hood. In comparison, it made her frayed sweater and skirt look more like dish rags than clothing. Aviela shrieked in appraisal of the outerwear and even Abraxas offered a nod of aristocratic approval. Tom grew more and more irritated with the nonsense while Christopher watched Hermione turn in the mirror at Aviela's wishes with hidden admiration on his face.

"Oh, Hermione! You have to get it! It fits you perfectly!" Aviela pleaded slightly. "I'll take my coat as well." She handed the bluebell colored coat over to her seamstress who walked it over to the register's counter, price obviously not being a problem for her.

Hermione looked at the price tag hanging from the sleeve of the coat. It read twenty-eight galleons. Her face grew hot.

"Come on, Hermione! Take it to the register, and then we'll swing by Honeyduke's!" Aviela ushered her off the stool.

"It's about time," Tom drawled. Abraxas rolled his eyes at him.

"Hurry, Aviela. I promised to meet Farkas at the Broomsticks," Christopher groaned quietly. Aviela quickly made her purchase, handing over a number of galleons in a bag for the witch to sort through. Hermione allowed the coat to be taken off of her and the witch walked over to the register.

"Well, what are you waiting for Hermione?" Aviela asked with her bag in hand.

"Come on, Sivad, we haven't all day," Tom said impatiently.

Hermione's mouth grew dry and she grabbed her own coat off the rack and pulled out her small money pouch, peeking inside in hopes of seeing a bounty of galleons hidden in its velveteen folds, but she only saw a handful of sickles and a number of chipped knuts.

"I… I can't," Hermione said uneasily.

"Of course you can, Hermione! It's totally worth it!" Aviela said in attempts to convince her.

"No… I can't. I just—" Then the realization struck the rest of them. She was without proper funding. Hermione Sivad was _poor_. Just what she needed to be, a _charity case._

"Oh Merlin, Hermione… I'm sorry," Aviela spoke regretfully.

"Hermione, don't worry, it'll be my treat. It looks absolutely wonderful on—"

"No," Hermione interrupted Abraxas' attempts, "It's all right, really." She smiled weakly. Before pulling her old coat on and walking out of the door, leaving the others feeling embarrassed and ignorant. Tom watched her walk away with slight curiosity until she vanished from the shop window's sight.

Hermione felt mortified at her predicament. She had gone through money issues a few times before as a young girl, but as her parents became more successful in their dentistry business, her stability and money worries completely vanished. This exchange was just another small testament to how alone she was—not just emotionally, but also financially.

Hermione had walked beyond the edge of town to a place where she, Harry, and Ron used to sit upon a large boulder and eat chocolate frogs in the spring. It was also the place where they would hold snowball fights with Fred and George during the winter. She sat upon the familiar smooth, cold surface and lied back, watching the gray afternoon clouds cluster and pass overhead. Her heart lurched with the want to cry, but her face held steady as she watched the clouds gather further, darkening the autumnal skies.

After a while, she heard what sounded like rather large footsteps rustling through piles of leaves in the slightly forested area. Hermione brushed it off as the wind, until she heard the sound of crunching and stomping again. By now Hermione was standing fully, wand out, and brows furrowed. She listened closer to what sounded like deep sobs coming from the cluster of trees and bare bushes to her right. She proceeded with caution toward the sound of the strange creature.

"Hello?" Hermione called out. The sobs ceased and the air grew still. "Is—is anyone there?"

It was then that Hermione saw a somewhat large, furry-looking figure step out from behind a tree. She held her wand tighter and pointed it at the thing. The creature began to walk toward her.

"Don't—don't move," she said somewhat threateningly in concern for her safety. "Who are you?"

"What does it matter? Yer probably here to make fun of me too. Go 'head, take yer best go. I'm sure I've had worse." The voice sounded like that of a young boy, but held a slight rumble to it.

Feeling no threat, Hermione lowered her wand and placed it back within her coat.

"Make fun of you? Why would I make fun of you?" Hermione asked curiously. The figure stepped out further from behind the trees.

"Look at me. I'm different. Ain't it reason enough?" The young wizard asked with a choked voice. Dried tears rested on his large cheeks as he attempted to rub the remaining moisture from his eyes with the sleeve of an oversized-patchwork coat that was clearly hand sewn.

"Ha—Hagrid?"

Hermione's heart lurched forward at seeing the lovable half-giant who was a part of her future. In her time, he was a beautiful old soul who—though clumsy—helped guide her through her years at Hogwarts, offered helpful advice, and picked her up when she was down—sometimes literally. She wished to go bury herself into the large boy's coat with a hug at the very sight of him, but she knew that probably wouldn't go over well with this being his first meeting of her.

"Of course you know my name. Everyone always comes to poke fun at ol' Hagrid." He said remorsefully.

"No, no! It's not like that. I am Hermione Sivad. I'm new here. I… I have heard your name. Dumbledore spoke of you to me on my first day here. He said… He said if I needed a friend... to come find you." Hermione pieced together her explanation. The young Hagrid's eyebrows furrowed at her statement.

Though he was younger than her in this time—him being in only his fourth year—he was still significantly taller and larger than her. He had scraggly brown hair that fell slightly past the collar of his coat and despite being so young, it seemed as though he was already on the verge of growing a beard. He wore tattered clothes that had been messily charmed to fight him and most of it was clearly made by all-too-large hands. She always admired Hagrid's resourcefulness—despite how shakily done some of his projects were.

"Why would you want to be my friend?" He asked cautiously, afraid of ulterior motives she may have such as so many others before her did.

"Because… I have no friends. Not truly. I used to… but that was a long time ago," Hermione felt her heart grow heavy.

Hagrid pondered her response and watched her face flicker with an expression he knew himself as sadness.

"Well… Hermione Sivad… I'll be yer friend," he smiled reassuringly at her. Hermione looked up at his broad smile. Despite his own hurt and pain, he still tried to make someone else happy. He was truly the Hagrid she remembered. Tears welled up in her eyes and before she knew it she had slung her arms around his large torso in a tight hug, letting the droplets fall silently.

Hagrid, being as awkward as he always had been, waved his arms around for a moment in confusion before patting her on the back with one hand, the other being suspended in mid-air. Hermione laughed and used her coat sleeve to brush away her tears.

"I'm sorry. I've just been missing home a lot and I've been missing my friends. I miss the way things used to be," Hermione answered truthfully. Hagrid sat down at the base of a tree and thought for a few moments.

"Ya know, sometimes we miss things, but new, better things will come and replace the emptiness, I promise," Hagrid offered his advice up to her, and though she knew he hardly believed the statement himself, she also knew that in time, he would come to find it to be true.

"Thanks, Hagrid. I'll be sure to remember that," She smiled and sat down at the base of a tree across from him.

Their friendship had begun. They talked and talked for hours, minutes, seconds—Hermione didn't know. She told her tale of her falsified life, but found herself revealing her true feelings through them. Hagrid told her of his past and of how kind Dumbledore had been to him. They talked about magical beasts, strawberry tarts, and the rough times they had experienced recently. She shared her story of what happened moments before they met, and he shared his of why he was hidden and crying. A few boys had been calling him an ogre and telling him to run back to his cave. Hermione commented on their stupidity and told him of how she didn't think he looked like an ogre.

Some of the things Hagrid had told Hermione she had already known from speaking with his older self in the future, but she talked with him, listened with him, and shared with him her own tales of misfortune and hilarity. They sat and talked at the base of those trees on the outskirts of Hogsmeade until the clouds had turned to the color of sherbet orange with the setting of the sun.

They left the wooded area and walked together, laughing and discussing a variety of topics as they passed by the shops. Many of the students had already left the town and were headed back to the castle with the exception of a few stragglers and last minute student shoppers. As they passed by the Three Broomsticks Inn, Hermione excused herself saying that she would catch up with him at the castle and waved goodbye.

The Inn's rush hour had ended and only a few tables were occupied aside from the bar. She walked to the back and passed the bathrooms quietly until she reached the cellar door. She waited and watched for a moment before calling out for her familiar.

"_Nyoka," _Hermione whispered into the wood of the cellar door, "We're leaving, it's time to go." Nyoka didn't answer, nor did she slither out of the small opening. Hermione heard footsteps pass by the entrance to the hallway and grew nervous. "_Nyoka!_"

Hermione thought up the best excuse she could muster for if she were caught and quietly pulled open the storage door, slipping inside, and shutting it softly behind her. A candled lantern in the back of the cellar slightly lit the dark room.

"Nyoka!" she called out a little more loudly this time.

"_Miss Hermione…?" _she heard the snake hiss from a corner. She followed the voice until she reached a stack of corked barrels. The snake laid lazily upon the ground, a lump in her belly and liquids surrounding her. The area smelt of spilt ale. "_I feel… peculiar."_

"Of course you do, you stupid serpent! You got into the ale. What did you expect?" Hermione said amused, despite trying to sound mad. She huffed and rolled her eyes before scooping up the snake and placing her within the folds of her coat. It was a tight fit, but the serpent adjusted regardless.

"AYE! What're ye doin' down 'ere?" A gruff voice called out. "Steal from me stock do ya think?" A large, burly man hobbled with a limp toward her. He brandished his wand from his vest pocket.

"I'm sorry, sir. I wasn't stealing, I was just—"

"Darned liar, I've 'bout had 'nuff of you kids comin' in here causin' a ruckus and stealin' from my stores." He continued walking toward her with a slight limp.

"Sir, please listen. I was just looking for my pet—" Hermione tried to reason.

"Oi, I've 'erd this'n before," He laughed disgustedly.

"But, it's true!" Hermione was in a panic. Students were allowed to use a few basic spells within regulation inside the premises of Hogsmeade when not at the school, but if she were using them to try and escape the scene and her wand registered it, she could be in worse trouble.

Suddenly, the man grabbed Hermione by the wrist and began dragging her toward the rear exit, his wand pointed at her all the while. She grew more terrified by the moment. She began to pull against his vice like grip.

"Let go!" Hermione said through gritted teeth as she used her weight to try and pull away to no avail.

"Can't say I ain't shocked to see 'nother one of yous, but I'm surprised that it was a gal this time," He laughed through his yellowed teeth. _What did he plan to do?_

She felt Nyoka stir within her pocket. The snake slithered out from the pocket's folds and rose on her haunches to wrap herself around Hermione's arm. She slithered up until she reached Hermione's captured wrist. Then what happened, next occurred in a blur.

The snake let out a menacing hiss, catching the attention of Hermione's attacker. The man yelled in shock as the snake revealed its fangs and struck his hairy arm, sinking in like knives cutting through bread. He released Hermione's wrist and stumbled backward reaching to grab the snake, but before he could a voice broke the chaos.

"_Everte Statum!"_

The man and Nyoka—who was still attached and clamping down upon him—were thrown across the cellar and crashed into a stack of crates containing grain which broke on contact sending the sacks across the floor and the lantern toppling as well. The glass shattered on the floor and the candle inside was doused. Hermione immediately ran over to the disillusioned inn keeper and gently picked up Nyoka who released the man's bloodied appendage. The snake coiled herself around her master's arm.

Hermione looked around in the half-darkness to see a tall figure looming behind her. The figure roughly placed his arm around her waist and forcefully ushered her out of the cellar's door to the outside. The evening's dim light greeted them causing Hermione to squint at the change in contrast. She stumbled as the man retracted his arm sharply. Hermione kept her back to the stranger in fear of turning around. Here she stood, trespassing, a student, and not to mention with Nyoka still on her arm with blood staining her shiny scales.

Hermione gulped and turned around to see Tom Riddle standing imposingly above her. His dark, squinted eyes flashing beneath knitted brows set into a stone face of misunderstanding and anger—but at whom she did not know.

"Who the _hell_ are you, Hermione Sivad." He said through gritted teeth.

Nyoka rose on her haunches once more with exposed fangs and angrily hissed at the future dark lord. Riddle turned his head to the snake at breakneck speed and bore into her eyes with his own. The snake lay down meekly before quickly retreating into Hermione's pocket. His eyes flashed back to her.

"I—" Anger began mounting inside of her. She could've gotten herself out of the situation without his help, she just needed to think. "It doesn't matter who I am," she glared at him, "why were you following me around?"

"Do you honestly _think_ I take time out of my day just to follow _you_ on your own leisure activities? I was simply running to the men's room before leaving when I saw the open cellar door and heard your _pathetic_ cries," Riddle seethed.

"I could've gotten out of the situation myself, I didn't need _your_ assistance," Hermione retorted through gritted teeth.

"Of course you could and that's why that _snake_ did it _for_ you," He said with a wicked grin on his twisted face. Hermione tried not to convey any emotion.

"So what if I have a pet? Many people do." Hermione knew her answer was a dumb one and she knew he knew it as well.

"A pet that does your _bidding_? A pet that is protective of you? Not many have those, Sivad," Riddle laughed incredulously.

"Fine—all right, you caught me," Hermione said simply. Riddle slowly straightened himself from his lowered level to her face and waited for her explanation.

"My father… he used to dabble in different forms of the Imperius curse. He created a form of the curse that was more of an enchantment—an enchantment that could be used on lesser creatures—namely, animals. Yes, they will do your _bidding_. The enchantment is meant to be used to create a guard out of any animal, and in some respects, a controlled familiar. I've raised Nyoka since the day she hatched. She was my first test subject with the spell—"

"So why hasn't your father presented this new enchantment to the Ministry?" Riddle seemed slightly intrigued, though his tone still harsh.

"Do you honestly think that the Ministry would take well to my father using an unforgivable during experimentation with creatures?" Hermione asked sarcastically. "The enchantment wears off after a period of time and requires recasting, or the animal could possibly turn."

Riddle pondered for a moment.

"Besides, what do you _think_ I was? _A parseltongue_? Salazar Slytherin's line has long since been gone, along with the parseltongues as well," Hermione scoffed at his notion—despite it being correct. Riddle thought about it for a moment and smirked, the tensions in his face easing up.

"You're right, Sivad. What a _ridiculous_ notion indeed," he said with a honeyed tone that made Hermione uncomfortable.

"So now what? Are you going to tell everyone that Hermione Sivad has a guard-snake that is hell bent on attacking people?" She said crossing her arms.

"No. That would be a ridiculous notion as well," Riddle said as-a-matter-of-factly. Hermione breathed a slight sigh of relief.

"But," he continued, "Keep in mind, Hermione Sivad; I have a bit of leverage over you now. It'd be wise not to delve into matters that aren't your own." He looked in her eyes intensely.

Hermione relayed no emotions as she looked him in the eye. She felt him prodding at the walls of her mind. The force felt stronger than the last time he tried to read her mind, but she maintained her barriers. He chuckled slightly before turning to walk down the alleyway. Hermione wished not to linger near the crime scene any longer and followed him down the passage.

"You forget, Riddle, I have leverage on you as well—that is if you aren't expelled first because of it," Hermione retorted.

"You mean that spell? It's called _wandless magic, _Miss Sivad, I'm sure you're aware of it. Any strictly vocally casted spell won't register within the wand's memory. I assumed you would know that," Riddle stated sarcastically. "Besides, the inn keeper is known for hexing students who he finds looking for firewhiskey in the larder, I don't think anyone would have minded my coming to your rescue due to being _lost_," He drawled before quickly changing the subject before Hermione could lash out at him—her jaw was already dropped in disbelief of his audacity. "On another note, Slug Club meets tomorrow afternoon at three. You might want to borrow something from Aviela; your outfit isn't quite _fit_ for this kind of setting." Riddle's words stung Hermione a bit especially since earlier's events, but she brushed them off and quickened her pace to keep up with his long strides.

"Fine then. And we need to start working on our Potion's project soon as well," She threw in.

"Start it on your own, it's a rather simple concoction. Unless you are _incapable_ of doing it yourself and need me to save the day again." He smiled darkly trying to make her tick.

She gritted her teeth slightly at his comment. If there was anything Hermione Granger hated was someone thinking she couldn't do something herself. _I'll show that twisted bastard._

The rest of the walk back was done in silence. She felt Riddle try to access her mind a few times, but she made no mention or reaction to it and neither did he. During those moments, Nyoka would squirm uncomfortably inside her coat pocket. The day had been long and Hermione had grown weary. Her first trip to Hogsmeade wouldn't be chalked up to a success in her book, but she met an old friend and had managed the company of her enemy for an extended amount of time. She had made progress, but she now had to walk on eggshells with Riddle—even more so than before.

She longed for her four-poster, but getting out of the presence of Tom Riddle would be a nice start.


	15. Firewalker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first Slug Club gathering of the year gets a little too lively. Hermione teaches Riddle a thing or two about potions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all SO much for all the support. Everyday I check back or add a new chapter, I am just in awe of the feedback and engagement I've had from you all. It makes me so excited to get up the next chapter! I have been working on writing new content to be posted on ff.net soon and to continue building future content for this story. I can't wait to see where it goes.
> 
> Thank you all so much! I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as you did the last. :)
> 
> **Not all Pottermore, Fantastic Beasts, and Cursed Child content is included in this story--this is AU, please be aware.**

_The light was bright. It shone about the room in a flurry of vivid white and gold. She was looking up to the sky. She heard laughter pouring from the light, and then she heard a thousand voices at once. They all spoke to her, saying her name. Some were loud, some were soft. Some were distressed, some were joyous. All voices she recognized in one form or another._

_She heard Harry's voice shouting to hear from beyond the veil, almost inviting her over to join him. She heard Ron calling her over as well. Ginny's laughter chimed in. Her mother started speaking softly to her. Her father quietly chiding her for something frivolous she had done as a child. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Fred and George, Luna—everyone began speaking at once, calling to her. _

_Then the voices she recognized but couldn't place a finger on came—voices she felt she had heard long ago, thousands of times, but never could seem to remember. She lifted a hand up to shield her eyes from the growing brightness._

_"Hello?" Hermione called out._

_"Listen closely and you shall find me soon enough. With eyes only, not all truths will you see."_

_"Who are you?"_

_Hermione received no response as the light faded to darkness and the voices hushed all at once. She looked around. Hermione heard soft sounds in the distance and began to walk forward._

_"Hello?" Her feet took her nowhere but further into the same darkness._

_She then felt something rise up behind her, sending shivers through her body. Her eyes grew wide as she felt the presence grow higher and higher. She was too afraid to move. _

_Apprehensively she turned around slowly as her eyes traveled up to the creatures yellow orbs._

_Wide-mouthed and eyes agape, she turn to stone.  
_

* * *

Hermione jolted awake drenched in sweat, breathing heavily. Her curtains were still drawn around her bed—just as she had left them the night before. She peeked out and around the room.

Everything was silent and Aviela laid still. Dawn had yet to break. In the half-light of the moon, Hermione looked up at the wall clock that ticked ominously. The time read 5:32.

She thought of home. Would the time be the same there as it is now decades ago? Or was her time stream simply on hiatus? Dumbledore hadn't been too clear. Regardless, she wished to waste no time in returning from this impossible mission.

Hermione could feel her restlessness growing. She slowly climbed out of bed as to not make any noise. She quietly rummaged her wardrobe for her uniform before pulling her school robes on over her knee-length gown. She grabbed her school bag and stuffed the change of clothes inside and slid on her slippers. Nyoka slid out from the crack in the wall and toward the young Ravenclaw as she hissed a brief good morning. Hermione lifted her easily and placed her inside the folds of her robe without saying a word.

She stepped and the floor creaked. Aviela rolled in her bed mumbling something in her sleep. Hermione cringed hoping not to wake her. They had not spoken since yesterday's incident at Hogsmeade, and although Hermione wasn't angry, she didn't wish to have Aviela splurging unnecessary apologies to her this early. She casted a silencing charm around her and continued out the door and down the steps quietly.

She entered the Ravenclaw common room and saw a boy sitting on one of the couches near the fireplace reading a book. Hermione was curious as to what a student was doing up so early, though she was sure they would be wondering that about her in a few moments. Trying not to disturb the student she walked by.

"Hermione?" she heard the voice of Christopher. She turned around to see the lanky, blond-haired boy sitting in striped pajamas with a dark blue robe thrown over him holding a closed book, his thumb marking the spot.

"Good morning, Christopher."

He quirked his head to the side and held up his hand to his ear. She still was under her silencing spell. She rolled her eyes at her own stupidity before waving her wand, removing the spell.

"I said 'good morning, Christopher'," she laughed slightly.

"Ah, good morning," he said stifling a yawn, "what are you doing up so early? It's a Sunday."

"I could ask you the same. You seem exhausted," Hermione said with concern.

"I couldn't sleep," he said as he waved his thumbed book in the air.

"So I see. I couldn't either. I am just off to take a shower," she said simply.

Christopher's face reddened slightly. Although he had warmed up to Hermione more over the past few weeks at Hogwarts, he still tended to shy away or get embarrassed easily during situations.

"Well, uh… make sure you stay safe out there. Hogwarts gets pretty creepy at night, you know?" Christopher said as he awkwardly cleared his throat. "And besides, I don't think anyone but prefects are allowed out before six in the morning."

"Thanks, but I'll be alright. I'll see you and Aviela at breakfast." She bade him farewell before casting a silencing charm over herself once more and walking through the door.

Christopher watched her walk through the archway before flipping his book back over to the front cover and placing a small piece of parchment inside. He slid _The Purposes and Policies of Dark Magic _back on the shelves before he walked back up to his dorm and crawled into bed.

* * *

Hermione continued down the winding stair case, the scones holding torches that lit her way. She then followed a path down the hall that she had come accustomed to and began to make headway for the girls' showers and bathing quarters.

Unlike most muggle schools, Hogwarts and the ability to use magic allowed for them to make the area spacious, sectioned off, and private, giving the students a choice of 30 closed-door bathing rooms that contained a shower, a large bathtub, and a mirror that was magically charmed so it wouldn't fog. At any given time, the shower rooms were usually never full due to two separate quarters being available for both male and female—not including the prefects. This allowed two houses of Hogwarts to "share" one quarter while the remaining two would share the other. Because of this, the quarters were placed evenly in between floors of where the houses were located.

Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs shared two quarters: one for males and one for females. Then, Ravenclaws and Slytherins shared two quarters in the same respect, but because of this, Hermione had to travel down a few floors from the high-up Ravenclaw towers, and nearer to the Slytherin dungeons.

As she walked through the hallways and descended down steps, she pulled her robe tighter around her, shielding her from the chill that had settled in the halls as autumn had finally arrived in full swing. The halls began darken and Hermione cast the familiar lighting spell allowing the tip of her wand to glow dimly. Although she had the silencing charm still cast over her in full effect, she glanced around nervously; even though it was nearly five, it was still considered after hours and she wished not to be given detention by a prefect hoping to snag some early morning students. Also, what Christopher said was true. Hogwarts did have a very creepy, mystifying factor about it before the sun rose each day. Maybe she felt that way more so than usual because she wasn't as quite familiar with the Hogwarts of this time; or maybe it was because she knew of what was stirring deep beneath the belly of the school.

Hermione shivered slightly at the thought of the basilisk slumbering in its chambers, or perhaps slithering throughout the large drain pipes. She wondered particularly how Riddle went about finding its location and making conversation with it. Either way, she was sure it wouldn't be too much longer before she found out.

Hermione descended another set of steps. _Almost there._ Then she heard the sound of loafers clicking against the floor. In a flurry of panic Hermione saw a familiar painting. A set of slumbering men sat around a table of fallen cards in the portrait. She quickly casted a silencing spell on the picture, opened it quickly—disrupting the slumbering inhabitants—and dashed inside before closing it once more. Breathing heavily she walked quickly down the narrow corridor to reach the last floor.

"Hello? Is someone there?" A male's voice called out. Hermione gasped and snuffed out her wand. She stood still waiting for the prefect to catch her any moment.

"Did you honestly have to take that light away? It has been dark down here for far too long and frankly I am getting sick of it," the voice inquired once more.

Hermione's brow furrowed and she waved her wand again, allowing the light to grace the tip of her wand once more, but brighter this time.

"Ah. Much better."

She winced at the light and followed the source of the voice until she stood before a painting. She lowered her wand from view so she could view the subject of the portrait.

"Hello, there," the man smiled crookedly at her, his hair caught in an ever flowing breeze and his gray irises lighting up even brighter under the luminescence of her wand. She removed the silencing spell from her.

"A-Alphard Corvus," Hermione said incredulously. His painting was unmoving—frozen in her time. How could it be "alive?" Or more importantly, how or why did it become frozen in _her_ time?

"If this plaque wouldn't have been present below my portrait, I would assume there would be a glimmer of hope that you actually knew of me," he laughed sadly.

Despite being confused, Hermione felt slightly sorry for the young man. She had truly never heard of him.

"I-I'm sorry. I don't know of you…" she trailed off as the young man began to lean out of frame, as though hoping to search for a nearby portrait to travel into despite none being on this section of wall. "But," she paused and he stopped, "I would like to."

He smiled and his eyes narrowed slightly as he sized her up.

"When divulging my secrets to the students who eventually came along, I had hoped they would be a bit more… I don't know, imposing, exciting, and powerful—not a girl dressed in a night gown," he said shrugging slightly.

"What's wrong with girls and night gowns?" Hermione felt slightly insulted by the portrait's accusations based solely on her appearance.

"Nothing, I just don't find either of them to be quite what I had in mind when finally speaking with a student," he said aloofly.

"Well… fine then. Find someone else to _divulge_ your secrets to," Hermione said sharply as she turned on her heel to leave.

Hermione felt Nyoka writher around in her pockets.

"_Miss Hermione, I do think that you should listen to him…" _Nyoka hissed to the young woman through her robes.

"And why is that?" Hermione whispered back mockingly.

"Because I, too, am a parseltongue," The man announced to her retreating form, causing Hermione to stop in her tracks.

She spun on her heel and cocked her head at the portrait of the man who had his arms crossed and only partially out of view now.

"But how—?"

"Magical portraits capture the essence of the subject do they not? Well, being a Speaker is an essence of me—a part of me," he reasoned.

Hermione couldn't help but take note that he had said Speaker just as Nyoka had called the parseltongues of old when they had first met.

"What is it that you wish me to know?" Hermione asked the portrait.

He laughed heartily at her response, leaving Hermione slightly annoyed and nearly wishing he would go back to being the unmoving, handsome man in her time.

"It's not _what _I want you to know, but _why_. But if you must know the _what_, then it is everything," he said simply.

"Everything?"

"Yes, everything. I wish you to know everything," he said waving his hand.

"Why?"

"Ah! And there it is! The _why_ will come later, when you find out everything_. _Then it'll be the _who, _then the _how, _then the _why_ again._"_

"I have no clue what you're talking about. You're mad. The dust must be getting to you," Hermione shook her head and huffed incredulously at the portrait. He just laughed.

"It's simple: I tell you everything, then you ask questions, I answer them, and then you ask _more_ questions," he stated slowly.

"All right," Hermione sat down with her legs crossed, "let's get started."

The man stared at her, head tilted, and then began laughing again. Hermione brushed a hand through her curls and sighed in frustration.

"If it were that simple, I would have already spoken to and told a student by now."

"So, what's the catch?"

"The catch is—" Then the portrait froze.

"Hello?" Hermione waver her hand in front of the portrait before resulting to tapping it. It was indeed unmoving. Her brow furrowed. _This is… unusual._

"_Miss Hermione, I do believe it's getting late—or early, rather," _Nyoka said, bringing Hermione back to reality.

"Oh, right," Hermione remembered why she had left the Ravenclaw commons and headed toward the direction of her exit.

A she exited the portrait of the sleeping dragon, she was met with dull chiming of a clock somewhere down the corridor and the soft pale sky brightening high in the windows. Hermione hung on the portrait for a moment, thoughtful. She smiled slightly. _So that's the catch… daylight._ Even though the sunlight didn't reach the portrait, it was daytime. That was Alphard's catch; he could only _move_ during night hours. But what about the event in which she had entered the passageway in her own time at night? The portrait was unmoving then despite the sun being far from risen.

She remained thoughtful of her conversation she had had with the portrait. She was unsure of why his portrait was hidden and why he was restricted by the sun, but she vowed silently to visit him as soon as possible and find out what it is he wants her to know… and why, who, how, and why again.

* * *

After Hermione had finished her shower, dressed, and headed back up to her dorm to place her nightclothes back in her trunk, she found that Aviela had woken. She practically dove onto Hermione in sobs, apologizing for yesterday's incident and for embarrassing her. Hermione worked hard not to allow Aviela to crush the serpent that was Nyoka within her robe's pockets. She chided Aviela and told her it was okay, and not to worry, offering her a smile. After Aviela calmed, she continued on to tell Hermione about the rest of her time at Hogsmeade. After the conversation, Hermione fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Aviela, I have a slight favor to ask of you," Hermione said remorsefully in thoughts of the words Riddle had spat at her the day before.

"Sure, anything!" Aviela practically edged to the end of her four-poster to hear what Hermione had to say, making it all the more worse.

"The first meeting for the Slug Club is today and I am not exactly sure what to wear…" Hermione had barely finished the sentenced before Aviela jumped up, grabbing her silk robe, and tied it expertly around her like a doctor suiting up to go to work.

"Say no more! I have the perfect outfit. I've seen a lot of the students going during their first meeting; dressy casual. It won't be as formal next round, but they _do _have the Slug Club Ball for students in the club and their dates. Oh, how I've _dreamed _of attending. I've heard that the food is ten times better than most individualized social events because Slughorn pays for the food out of his _own_ pocket_,"_ Aviela continued her ramblings as she searched the closet opposite her bed for the outfit in mind. Hermione, too, had a closet but she had never seen the need for it as all her clothes were worn-in and were unlikely to wrinkle or wear further from her admissions.

Aviela pulled out a sleek black, flared skirt that was a bit shorter than the calf length skirts Hermione had been wearing and a light pink cardigan that buttoned in the center and ruffled slightly at the sleeves.

"I wore this to my cousin's birthday a year or so back, but I haven't worn it since, you're more than welcome to keep it." Aviela offered the clothing items to Hermione.

"Are you sure?" Hermione truly didn't need it, but she felt that turning the gift away would be insulting.

"Positive! I'll go through more of my things later and see if I can't find something I think you would love," the small, blond-haired girl grinned broadly. Aviela had been far too generous to her already. She had never truly had a girl friend that she was close to aside from Ginny. It was nice to have that feeling back once more.

"Thank you, Aviela. I appreciate it, I truly do," Hermione said in earnest.

Aviela dove and gave Hermione a hug, momentarily squishing Nyoka.

"Any time, Hermione! But I am off to get ready for the day, I'll see you at breakfast soon." Aviela grabbed a few of her things and shoved them in a bag before leaving for the bathing quarters.

Hermione sat still for a moment and sighed.

"_Something wrong, Miss Hermione?" _Nyoka asked as she slithered to uncoil herself from the uncomfortable position she had been shoved into moments earlier.

"No, nothing really. I'm just tired…" _Tired of pretending._

"_Well, hopefully you will get more rest tonight."_

Hermione laughed. The snake could speak, but it was no mind reader.

"Yeah, probably not. Would you mind…?"

"_Staying here and about the castle while you go tend to your slug nonsense? I think I can manage," _Nyoka hissed as she exited Hermione's robes and slithered up her fore arm, wrapping herself around it.

"You _are_ getting quite big, you know. Before long I am going to have to enchant my pocket." Hemione turned her arm about, examining the snake.

"_Or I could always rest upon your shoulder," _Nyoka insisted. For a snake to rest upon its master's shoulders was the highest honor and respect a familiar of their caliber could be given.

"Yeah, not happening. I can't let you be seen, or we would both be in big trouble."

"_At least I took a chance. Perhaps someday."_

"Yeah. Someday," Hermione said thoughtfully.

* * *

As the afternoon came to a close and the evening was looming before her, Hermione stood before the mirror in her dorm, dressing herself in Aviela's clothes. The skirt fit her nicely and the cardigan flattered her hourglass figure. She chose a pair of black tights and flats to wear with the outfit. She then opened her nightstand and pulled out a rhinestone clip. She pulled back and twisted a piece of hair to the side before securing it firmly.

This was probably the best she had looked since she arrived. She had found it fun to dress up on occasion before and prized herself on looking neat and well put together, but since she had traveled and had only a limited wardrobe and funds, she hadn't bothered to put much effort into her appearance. Part of her held an uncaring stance on wasting her time in front of the mirror as well. At this point, she felt the time was something she needed to waste the least.

She allowed herself this moment to twirl in front of the mirror, smiling slightly, enjoying feeling put together—_whole. _But Hermione knew all too well that this did not come from simply appearance, but heart and spirit as well. She had been uncomfortable in her skin for the first four years she spent at Hogwarts. It was only until the past year or so that she begun to accept and love herself, despite her many flaws; most that couldn't be fixed with dentistry.

She chuckled at the notion that she once had in which she thought her parents were miracle workers. They came close in her mind at least.

Ready to go to attend her first meeting as a Slug Club member, she took a deep breath, said goodbye to Nyoka who slithered into a whole within the floor, and headed out the door.

Hermione passed by the common room and a few students seemed to turn their heads ever so slightly. This Hermione was _different_. It wasn't just the clothes, however. She walked a little taller, smiled a little wider, and shined a little brighter.

Aviela passed her in the hall and grinned. She knew that she had done more than simply given Hermione clothes. She had given her a new attitude; a bit of pep in her step. She couldn't be happier to have helped either.

Hermione continued making her way to her destination, her confidence mounting. She finally reached the room in which the meeting was to be held and entered.

The room held a bounty of silver streamers that stretched across the ceiling. There were any number of different colored balloons that had floated to the top of the room. The lighting was casual and table in the distance was covered with a pristine white cloth. Two serving tables rested on either sides of the room for students to help themselves before the main course. Hermione was quite sure this wasn't a constant, but rather a celebration of sorts, marking the first meeting of the semester.

The students milled about, some had already taken their seats among the large, round table in the room. The attire was just as Aviela had said and she fit right in. Around the room she noticed anywhere from twenty to twenty five students—ranging in age, but most appeared to be around fourth years or up. The number of members was slightly larger than that of her time, but still exclusive nonetheless. She saw a young McGonagall off in the corner to her left enjoying the appetizer table and chatting with some students. To her right she caught sight of Abraxas and Riddle conversing. Abraxas wore smooth, black trousers with a white button up and emerald tie, while Riddle wore black pants and a fitted tweed jacket with the Slytherin logo on the breast pocket. Both of their brows were furrowed in frustration as they continued to converse. Hermione couldn't tell if it was at one another or an object that wasn't present, until they turned their heads.

Abraxas' mouth fell open slightly and even Riddle seemed momentarily surprised by her more put together self, but his brow remained knitted, causing Hermione to conclude that the conversation had to have been about her. By this time, many of the students had seen her and began talking in hushed tones. She wouldn't blame them. In the past month she _had_ neglected herself, but this was a first step toward normalcy—toward moving forward in accepting herself and her path.

Abraxas left Riddle standing near the refreshments while he came over to greet Hermione.

"You look lovely, Hermione. I am glad you could make it," Abraxas smiled as he kissed her hand gently.

"Thank you, Abraxas," she said with a slight grin as she accepted his offer to take her arm and guide her throughout the room. As the crossed the floor she couldn't help but notice the unsightly piano music playing in the background. It reminded her of something she had heard at her great aunt's funeral once. "Is the music always this…?"

"Boring? Drab? _Unearthly?" _Abraxas questioned as Hermione giggled into her hand. "The Slug Club can get a bit dull at times, but we find ways to… _liven_ it up." With that Abraxas sneakily turned out his wand and waved it in the air. Suddenly, the slow piano music was replaced with a fast-paced type of swing music that was native to the wizarding world—and popular she would assume from the whoops of approval as students crowded the open areas of the floor to dance.

Abraxas began to tug on her hand gently shouting over the music, "Do you dance?"

"Not in the least," she laughed heartily.

"Neither do I!" In a rush, he pulled her onto the dance floor. She was absolutely unfamiliar with this style of dance, but Abraxas knew enough for them to stumble along with the rest of the crowd. Hermione couldn't contain her laughter as he spun her around. As she turned, she caught sight of Riddle standing off to the side, arms crossed, looking almost uncomfortable. She relinquished herself of Abraxas for a moment, leaving him to dance with a Hufflepuff girl whom she allowed to take over, before making her way over to Riddle.

She stopped in front of him.

"Come on, Riddle, let's dance," Hermione said in between breaths from the exhausting dance. Had she not been on a high from the rush of energy, the music, and her confidence, she would have double checked her actions before she asked the future Dark Lord to dance with her. But at this point, she didn't even care.

He looked at her as though she had grown a second head.

"Are you mentally unstable?" He scoffed.

"Quite. So will you dance with me or not," Hermione asked again before she stuck out her hand to the young man.

"You're damned near _foolish_ if you think I'll get out there and dance like some primate."

"So you can't dance?" Hermione smirked, although she knew she was playing with fire, her inhibitions had gone out the window with the piano music.

Riddle's nostrils flared. It clearly agitated him for someone to tell him he could not do something. _And that is just what he needs; a little something to bring him back down to earth. _Hermione thought.

"What I can and cannot do is not limited to your assumptions. Whether I choose to dance is my choice, and right now, I choose not to," Riddle said through clenched teeth trying to seem as civil as possible in the public setting. Hermione would hate to have seen what things would have escalated to at this point had they been alone.

"Oh, come on, Riddle. I could use a dance partner," Hermione agitated him with a smirk, knowing his frustrations would only grow. She glanced down at Riddle's hand twitching toward the pocket of his black trousers. _His wand._

In a flurry of panic, Hermione allowed her wand to fall from her sleeve and held it expertly, pointing it toward him like a snake ready to strike if he even dared to moved. He disarmed her wandlessly and silently, sending her wand scuttling across the room and into the floor, rolling under the appetizer table. Some of the students began to take note of the exchange, including Abraxas who looked on with concern in between spins.

"Oh, _sod _it…" Riddle said informally as he gripped Hermione's wrist painfully, almost dragging her to the floor. At this point, she no longer wished to dance, but fight Riddle. Although she had been prodding at him, she hadn't expected him to nearly pull his wand on her. How quickly he was to settle the matter with violence unsettled Hermione.

Once on the dance floor, Riddle turned and jerked her about just as expertly as any of the other male dancers on the floors. He then pulled her close, taking her breath away with a slight squeak. Her heart pounded as she struggled to keep up—whether it was from the quick movements or the sudden closeness to the young, dangerous Slytherin she could not tell. Senses heightened, she was aware of everything: the _whoosh_ of the air going past her, Riddle's strong hand that pulled hers as they spun, the frequent gracing of his fingers upon the small of her back ever so slightly, it was all becoming too much to handle at once, so instead, she tried to focus on his face.

Although his feet seemed at place on the dance floor, his face wasn't; his face was impassive and he looked bored with it all. They made eye contact for a moment as he spun her around once more. During that time, she felt a slight prickling at the edges of the walls of her mind before a force flooded through. Hermione felt him quickly beginning to rifle through her thoughts and only allowed him to see what she thought wasn't detrimental: a snippet of her sneaking down a corridor at night through an unmarked passage, a snake slithering up her arm in a dark cellar, falling from a great height before smacking the wet ground, four imposing statues in a half-lit room, and then something she didn't remember; the tail-end of a voice saying, "w_ith eyes only, not all truths will you see."_ Then, Riddle was abruptly ripped from her thoughts as Hermione procured her strong barriers once more.

As the song quickly came to an end just as it begun, he dipped her dangerously close to the floor before pulling her back to his chest. Everyone stood around them clapping, clearly impressed by Riddle's unknown prowess and the intensity of the dance. Abraxas' eyes were nearly bugging out of his head.

Hermione, too dizzy from both the sudden intrusion of her mind and the dance, she couldn't manage to bring her full frustration together, instead she settled with looking up at Riddle. She felt his heart thudding heavily in his chest.

"So, you can dance," Hermione spat at him breathlessly.

"I never said I couldn't, just that I preferred not to. You'd be surprised by what I am capable of doing if you'd allow yourself more than just to open your eyes, Miss Sivad," Riddle stated quietly with frustration, his face flushed; Hermione did not miss the dark undertone his words held. _Was this a threat or an invitation to…?_

"Well wasn't that _something_!" Slughorn said joyously from the front of the room, clapping his hands together quickly as another swing track began playing in the background. "I assumed you kids might've found this music too stimulating so I thought we might steer from it, but as I can see, you students could use a little de-stressing, eh?"

Hermione and Riddle, quickly realizing their proximity, nearly shoved one another apart.

"Such passion in your dance! I think I picked my pairings quite well," Slughorn said with a wink to the two of them.

Hermione blushed furiously at what he was implying and Riddle simply sighed and rolled his eyes.

"I honestly have no time for such frivolities, Professor, you know that. A dance is nothing more than a dance just as a potion is nothing more than a potion," Riddle said simply to Slughorn.

"A potion is never_ just_ a potion, Tom, it requires many ingredients, ground and mixed in different ways, then brewed for different amounts of time, and it can _always_ be tweaked ever so slightly," Slughorn said as he accentuated each part with the enthusiasm only a potion's master could have.

"Perhaps so, sir," Riddle regarded him with respect.

"All right! Now if all students would kindly take their seats, we shall begin the evening's meal and discuss," Slughorn announced as he lifted the needle off the record player, killing off the swing music and the lively mood with it.

"So what do we discuss?" Hermione whispered to Abraxas as the students began milling about once more.

"Nothing worth discussing, that's for sure," Abraxas said out of the corner of his mouth.

Groaning inwardly, Hermione grabbed her wand from under the table and relinquished it into her sleeve once more before taking her place beside Abraxas, allowing him to successfully divide her and Riddle.

* * *

The following week had went by without incident. Riddle had avoided her as much as she had attempted to avoid him. In class, neither made a move to start casual conversation. Hermione felt violated from his mind reading he had done while dancing and he had felt mortified from having to dance in the first place. All she could be thankful for was the fact that she had reacted in enough time to steer him clear of her most private and personal thoughts—the ones vital to the mission. She suddenly became familiar of the cold burning on her breast from the time turner. Although, she couldn't help but wonder about the last thought he had pulled from her. She also couldn't place a finger as to where it had come from either, meaning it had to be a product of a wiped memory—or most likely—a dream.

She hadn't had a vivid, memorable dream since the first she had experienced after arriving to Hogwarts when she passed out and awoke with different colored eyes in the infirmary in her own time. Did that mean that she was having vivid dreams but simply could not remember them? This unsettled Hermione. The words clearly had a message or meaning—just as her first dream was symbolic. What other dreams could she possibly be having without knowledge of their intent or meanings? She did not know, but she was determined to find out somehow.

She had also yet to visit the painting of the unusual being that was its subject: Alphard Corvus. Their conversation had hardly left off on a complete note after he was cut off with the rising of the sun, but she was hopeful that she could manage to sneak away from the Ravenclaw commons, her studies, and the omnipresent Riddle to speak with Alphard once more.

Later in the week, Hermione had managed to make some conversation with Riddle in potions class. They had decided to start on the project that following Monday, or in Riddle's words, she "must have simply been incapable of doing it without him." Letting him think what he wanted to she was content that they finally agreed on a time to begin; she was almost sure that they were behind already. She knew they would have to bring up the topic of what his possible _invitation_ meant and on her anger at him reading her mind—but that could wait another day.

Hermione marched into the dining hall one evening; the students already seated and feasting. She looked about the room at the various students chatting and devouring the food before them, then she saw none other than Rubeus Hagrid sitting near the front of the Gryffindor table. She could tell he was much by himself as there was plenty of room around him. He looked down with a slight frown as he picked at the food on his plate. She drew a deep breath.

With her recently adopted devil may care attitude, Hermione surpassed her usual seating at the Ravenclaw table, and ventured down the center of the divided tables with purpose in her step. By the time she had passed the halfway marker between the tables, much of the chatting had ceased to interested murmurs and even the staff were watching her with intent. Hermione paid them no mind as she veered off to left and sat down across Hagrid, her blue-lined robes standing out in a sea of red and gold.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, hands crossed, nearly chuckling at her guile and the students' reactions. They acted like they assumed it was border, and if crossed, they would be electrocuted or hexed. The students were always given the choice to sit where they chose, but none had ever strayed—at least not until now.

Riddle had watched her curiously. Like the other students, he too couldn't help but be somewhat shocked at her actions. Just when he thought he had her figured out, she became another matter entirely. Another ingredient added, another tweak to the potion that was Hermione Sivad.

Aviela smirked in the distance at the curly-headed girl who had become her friend. She knew this girl was gutsy, but now she was sure Hermione was one hell of a rebel.

The students of the Great Hall—as well as a confused Rubeus Hagrid—continued to watch Hermione as she quietly reached over and grabbed a plate, piling it with her favorites: mashed sweet potatoes, a biscuit, broccoli, and some carved turkey. She then folded a napkin neatly in her lap before picking up her utensils.

"So how was your day, Rubeus? Mine was great," she smiled to the half-giant as she began eating and telling him about her day—not giving the slightest damn of what anyone else would think.


	16. The Pendulum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione's dreams grow stranger by the day, an ill fate is met, and Riddle tests his limits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost 1500 views?! You all are blowing my mind right now! I am so glad you all are having fun reading this story. We are almost caught up to pace here on AO3. I will be taking a personal day from work tomorrow, so I will try to post two chapters tomorrow! I hope you all have fun reading the new chapter posted below. It's another one of my favorites. :)
> 
> **Not all Pottermore, Fantastic Beasts, and Cursed Child content is included in this story--this is AU, please be aware.**

Hermione sat at a desk with numerous tomes strewn across its glossy wooden top. She sat with her head resting against her fingertips in frustration reading the same passage of her potions book over and over again to no avail. She had gotten the time and the room number correct, but it had been over an hour and a half since she arrived and there was still no sign of Tom Marvolo Riddle.

He had told her to meet him in room 316C at three o' clock that afternoon so they could work on their potions project, yet he had not even bothered to show. With every tapping of feet and voices passing by the closed door of the empty classroom, Hermione would jerk her head up to see if it were him passing by nonchalantly, uncaringly, or even laughing at her for believing a single word he said.

Though Hermione was perfectly capable of doing the experimentations by herself that Slughorn had called for them to conduct in hopes of landing one of his students (or himself) a spot in _Potions Today, _the project was assigned and meant to be tested _with_ a partner. With no partner present, she could hardly do so.

_To hell with him._ Hermione slammed her book shut angrily before standing and yanking the materials Slughorn had given her out of a crate. The cauldron clanged noisily against the rest of the materials within the crate, causing them to topple in on themselves. The loud noise breaking the silence only added to Hermione's frustrations.

She grabbed and slammed the cauldron atop the desk, caring less if it scratched the wood, and pulled out the pamphlet that would be her starting guide to conducting the experiment. She withdrew the separately bagged and labeled ingredients for the potion from the crate. Spreading them out across the desk, her irritation waned as she became absorbed in focusing on the task at hand.

Following the starting steps as listed, Hermione began adding a piece of ginger root, mermaid scale ashes, and a pinch of unicorn horn power in the small mixing bowl. As she read on, the pamphlet suggested some minor changes that could be done to help test potion outcomes. To start, she began tweaking the recipe ever so slightly by taking the dried doxy wings and placing them in a separate bowl before grinding them to a fine power as suggested. Hermione then added the purple dust to the rest of the ingredients and began grinding them all together.

The instructions then called for her to add frozen or thawed ashwinder eggs to the mixture. Hermione looked over at the small bag of magically frozen eggs in thought. Casting auguamenti on her pewter cauldron resting on the table, Hermione dipped her fingers inside to test the coolness. It was room temperature. She then reached into the crate and grabbed a heating stone; a magical stone that is used to safely heat potions—particularly given to students who are doing controlled experimentation due to the low hazard. The stone was a foot long and half a foot wide and was colored ruby red with flecks of green inside the stone. Supposedly the stone would heat when coming into contact with certain compounds found within a cauldron, but not burn any other surface.

Hermione placed the stone on the center of the empty desk behind her. She knew the method she was choosing was highly illogical when she could defrost them perfectly by magic, but she had learned a few potion tricks in Snape's class despite his constant remarks that she was a know-it-all. She knew that ingredients frozen by magic often lost potency when unthawed by magic as well, so as to preserve the ingredient, she decided to thaw them the old fashioned way; the _muggle_ way.

She grabbed a piece of parchment, quill, and inkwell from her book bag that rested on the floor. After procuring the miniature scale that Slughorn had issued all students from the crate, she carefully removed the ashwinder eggs and set them atop the scale one by one. Leaning over, she scrawled out the approximate weight and magical density of each singular egg. Using her knowledge of arithmancy she calculated the time in which she would have to allow the eggs to sit in the water and thaw along with how far apart the stirring increments needed to be. After working out the numerical equation, she held the tip of her wand to the stone and thought for a moment.

"Using starting water temperature, increase it by 10 degrees each hour. Set brew for 10 hours. Every 2 hours sound off as a reminder to stir," Hermione watched the stone glow once, twice, three times as it affirmed her request. The green specks within the stone lit up slightly in activation and to show that it was ready for use.

Hermione placed the flat stone on the empty desk behind her, lifted the half-filled cauldron, and sat it atop the magical rock. Hermione added the five ashwinder eggs to the water carefully; placing her hand inside the water and settling them individually on the bottom. The eggs began to fizz like bath salts in a tub as they began the thawing process. As the eggs would thaw within the water, the water would chill, but in response, the stone would add 10 degrees each hour as to maintain the perfect temperature for the process.

Hermione took her dry mixture she had ground together previously and carefully sealed it within a glass lidded container to preserve it until she needed it again. She cleaned off the instruments she had used thoroughly and placed them back into the crate. Afterwards, she removed another piece of parchment and sat down thoughtfully as she wrote down step by step the what she had done thus far, and then on another she—with pamphlet in hand—mapped out what she planned to do for the remaining steps of the potion.

After some time spent hunched over her writings, Hermione suddenly heard the stone chime whimsically. She looked at the clock which hung in the empty classroom; it read a little over half-past six. The mixture was ready to be stirred. Withdrawing a metal stirring rod from her storage, she stirred the eggs carefully, causing them to fizz again as they moved about the water. After allowing the eggs to settle back to the bottom, Hermione slung her book bag across her body, grabbed her wand, and left the room, careful to lock the door behind her as to leave her project and open books undisturbed.

Once at the Great Hall, Hermione took a seat next to Hagrid at the Gryffindor table. She had sat with him every day for dinner that week, and by this point, much of the student body had ceased their murmurings and staring. Yesterday Hermione had actually seen two Gryffindors sitting at the Hufflepuff table and a Hufflepuff at the Ravenclaw table. They weren't major leaps in breaching the gap between students, but it was a start.

Much to Hermione's delight, Gryffindor's bravest had slowly begun to sit near to the half-giant. He made conversation with the students that sat close by, slowly coming out of his shell. Whether the students had formerly sat with them to get to know the infamous Hermione Sivad, or simply to join in, it did not matter. What mattered was Rubeus Hagrid wouldn't be alone and that was enough for her.

After dinner passed, Hermione bade farewell to the Gryffindor crowd and notified Aviela of her plans for working on her project that evening and apologized that she couldn't join her and the other Ravenclaws for a game of charades. Hermione was thankful for the excuse; she had always despised charades.

Once back at room 316C, she was relieved to see the door still locked and her potion undisturbed on the inside. Hermione glanced into the cauldron as it rested before checking the clock on the wall. The potion wouldn't need stirring for another half hour. She withdrew a book that she had checked out of the library the day before on dream theory and the discoveries that had been made about them in the magical world.

She sat, reading leisurely, until the stone chimed for her to stir the eggs once again. Hermione couldn't help but chuckle at the notion that it was Christmas and she had to thaw a turkey. The length of time, the readjusting of the temperature—it had all been something she had helped her mother with every holiday season for as long as she could remember.

Hermione stirred the water as the smile faded from the reflection in the water. She longed to write to her mother, to tell her that she was fine and not to worry—despite her not knowing of her daughter's current situation. Her heart ached every time the owls brought students deliveries and parcels of all shapes and sizes from home. She wished to be one of the students reaching their hands up high to catch the gifts as they fell from the air, let loose by the talons of their couriers. Hermione had no one to send her gifts nor write to her from time to time, and despite knowing that, every time the owls swooped in during breakfast, she still caught herself looking up for something, _anything._

The only regrets she had now was not giving her mother and father a proper goodbye before they parted ways. What if she never saw them again? Hermione shook the thoughts from her head as she felt her throat seize up in remorse; she didn't want to go there, not now.

Feeling weary, she sat down, returning to her readings, but never fully absorbing the material. After some time, Hermione's head began to loll and the words blurred and refocused as she attempted to shake away the tiredness that consumed her. The battle was lost as Hermione's head slid out from her hand, down her arm, and to rest on the book of dreams.

* * *

_Hermione woke on the ground with a start. Her heart beat fluttered quickly inside her chest and her head felt dizzy. She sat up slowly as the world turned around her, shifting with almost a groan that sounded like the hull of a ship settling on an uneasy ocean. She grasped the side of her head. She couldn't remember what she had been doing nor where she was._

_Hermione looked up at the white light that shone brilliantly down upon her. Despite its lack of source, it seemed to be emitting a buzzing sound like that of a street lamp in the middle of summer. She winced before turning away her gaze from its intensity. Hermione looked down at her body. She wore an ivory strapless dress that flared out and hit slightly above her knee. She pushed herself off the ground with her hands and stood._

_The sparkling pearlescent floors felt like icy marble against her bare feet. As she stepped forward the room lit up further, but still holding an edge of shadow just beyond that light. She took another step. Ghostly violin music began to crescendo as it overtook the buzzing noise and began singing a waltzing tune. Another step, more strings joined in. A third step, the low chattering of a room full of guests making merriment sounded. Standing still for a moment, she looked around for the source of the abrupt ambience._

_Suddenly, out from the shadows stepped various partygoers in elaborate glittering gowns and pressed suits. Hermione watched as they began to dance in sync to the music being played out of sight. Tinkling laughter chimed from the young female patrons as the men talked casually. She could hear the clinking of glasses as they touched one another and the tapping of toes on the floor as they hit with each boxed step._

_Quickening her pace, Hermione moved across the room until she was nearly in the throng of the party. She looked up at the faces of the patrons. Instead of seeing young faces and soft smiles, she saw any number of animals waltzing about the room._

_Each patron had their identities concealed behind the masks of their chosen creature. A white rabbit twirled about a gowned mouse. A suited frog graciously bowed to his feline counterpart. A horse in a tuxedo moved forward to embrace the peacock before him._

_Hermione watched as they danced—seeming to float above the floor with each turnabout. A chill crept up her spine as she stole a glance at the wolf that waltzed by her. Where Hermione had expected to see glistening, starry eyes sparkling under the bright lights, she was only met with blackness. The masks held nothing but indefinite shadows where eyes should be._

_Hermione grew anxious as the couples began dancing faster; more intently. Their movements' no longer fluid, but becoming quick and erratic—_unnatural_. Soon the entirety of the partygoers that waltzed about the room did so wildly, becoming almost inhuman in their actions._

_A pair of dancing gazelles bumped into her forcefully, sending her tumbling to the hard surface. Hermione's heart pounded as she scurried about the floor like a rat—dodging polished shoes and stomping heels. As she attempted to avoid a pair of legs on her right, a dancing duo slammed into her from the left, sending her sprawling across the floor once again._

_Disoriented, Hermione struggled as she looked up—the light from above blinding her momentarily. Through the sashaying of long gowns and slender, black legs she saw a figure standing off the floor of the ballroom near the shadows. She focused on the observer as she tried calling out for help. She reached outward, only to have her hand crushed violently beneath the shoe of a hypnotic patron. Then with a grunt, she hefted herself forward despite the pain and moved across the room quickly; weaving herself in and out of the crowd as best she could while being tossed throughout the sea of wild things._

_With a gasp Hermione broke through the horde of dancers and threw herself to the feet of the tall figure. She stood up shakily—stumbling slightly before steadying herself—and looked up to face Tom Marvolo Riddle. _

_He smiled at her deviously before inclining his head in chastisement and reaching out to her, stroking her hair softly, lovingly, almost in admiration. He tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear and took her hand, slowly pulling her closer to him._

_Her heart beat erratically and her senses heightened—but she was not afraid. A certain itching settled beneath her skin—a wanting of sorts—but what she wanted, she could not place._

_He held up her hand and ran his fingers down it, then past her arm, and to her shoulder, drawing circles lazily in her flesh. He continued his ministrations once more, dragging his slender fingers across her skin tenderly. She felt dazed and raised her silver eyes to meet his. Half-lidded, his dark eyes watched her curiously, a small smirk resting upon his thin lips._

_Gripping her wrist lightly, he twirled her around until she faced the crowd that continued to dance without end, without rest. She felt his presence behind her, his breath tickling the back of her neck. She rolled her head slightly in contentment of his nearness. Riddle trailed a finger from the nape of her neck down to the exposed milky flesh of her back before running it back up once more. She sighed in contentment, feeling as though she were in a trance-like state._

_From behind, Riddle moved one hand to the front of her neck, splaying his fingers across her throat, holding it firmly. Controlling the movements of her head, he tilted it to one side and slid his face down next to hers. Her eyes threatened to shut as Riddle breathed hotly on the shell of her ear. Her hands swayed back and forth slightly as her eyes attempted to follow the blurred forms that were the dancers._

_Hermione gave in, closed her eyes, and leaned into the towering form behind her, finding something soothing in the contact between her back and his chest. But it was though there was something more that she wanted—something that she needed. Something that would not rest until she was satisfied._

_A series of whispering voices rushed up, stirring up something lurking in the deep—something dark. They grew in loudness, in aggressiveness—male, female—all at once. The whispers ushered themselves from the depths as they flicked off the tongues of various apparitions._

_Then, all at once, every sound stopped; the voices, the chatter, the music, the clinking. All ceased to exist when Tom Riddle spoke._

"_Kill."_

_Her eyes shot open as his sweet hiss reverberated against her very being. Hermione outstretched an arm as the guests suddenly became aware of her and began screaming, pointing at her fearfully. In a rush she moved across the ballroom, orchestrating a dance of violent proportions. Her feet stepped expertly, her body moved precisely, and her arms whipped wildly, dancing a dance of death and destruction as she found what it was that she needed: blissful chaos._

_The patrons stampeded the fallen as they fled toward the edges of the light and into darkness. Riddle watched his puppet promenade uncontrollably about the room. She was his discovery, his creation, his device, and his work of art in the making. He was creating a masterpiece with every step she took and every spin she executed. Their performance was one that would not soon be forgotten._

_He closed his eyes, listening to the anarchy that fell upon deaf ears. They had deserved the hand that fate had entailed Riddle to deal them. It was his duty to purge the world of their sins and contemptible ways. He was not the darkness blocking out the light, but the shadow damned with a never-ending vexation from afar. He was not the stoic prince in disguise, but the affirmed king upon an iron throne. He was not the traitor in the midst, but the messiah come to deliver his people and rain his judgment like fire from the sky._

_The masquerade attendees fell one by one, their bodies thudding to the floor. Riddle stood, a wretched smile creasing his porcelain face as he watched the madness that ensued, drenching the once beautiful scene in red. The world slowly began to crumble away. The light faded, giving into darkness. The shrieks that pierced the air ceased as all things fell to nothingness._

_The girl in the serpent mask kept dancing._

* * *

Hermione slowly came to as she woke from her slumber. She lifted her head up groggily, taking note of her aching back and shoulders as they both came in contact with the back of a hard, wooden chair. She rubbed her hands over her face and open and closed her formerly clenched jaw.

"Nice of you to finally wake," a voice said from a few desks down.

Hermione immediately jumped in surprise, nearly going for her wand, until her eyes focused upon the form of Riddle who sat straight backed in a chair, casually reading a book.

Feeling embarrassed, Hermione fumbled to smooth her frizzing hair down and wipe off drool that had dried on the side of her face from her deep sleep. He hadn't seemed to notice, and if so, he did not care. Hermione cleared her throat before speaking.

"Nice of you to _finally _show up," she spat at him as she rose from her seat, suddenly remembering her reason for being there.

"I was occupied and had other matters to attend to."

_Like opening the Chamber of Secrets._

"Well, don't let me keep you from your duties then," she scoffed as she rounded the table to peer into the cauldron. The ashwinder eggs were gone. Hermione felt panicked. She must have not heard the chiming in her slumber. Perhaps the eggs had ruined.

"I stirred the ashwinder eggs because you were obviously unable to do so. They finished about twenty minutes ago," Riddle said lazily as he flipped a page of his book.

Hermione glanced up at the clock resting on the wall of the classroom. It read 2:46 in the morning. She groaned slightly. She had planned to leave the cauldron after its final need for stirring at twelve, then go to her dorm for the night, allowing the eggs to rest in the lukewarm water until that next afternoon. Yet, here she stood with an inexcusably late Riddle and a cauldron of missing eggs.

"I wrapped them in a damp cloth and placed them and the rest of the items inside the cupboard on the far left," Riddle said as he flipped another page, answering her next question as though he had read her mind.

Hermione walked over to the large wooden cabinet and began pulling out the crate of equipment once more. Riddle looked at her questioningly with a raised eyebrow. After rifling through its contents, sure enough she found the folded eggs placed safely in a wooden box. She took out the items and bagged potion mixtures, sitting them down on a desk far away from Riddle.

"What are you doing?" Riddle shut his book quietly and stood.

"What does it _look_ like I am doing? I am doing the potions project that _we_ were assigned to do _together_. But it appears that you are too _busy_ to be a part of it, therefore I am going to continue it _alone._"

"If that's what you would prefer, who am I to stop you?" Riddle smirked.

"Smug bastard," Hermione whispered under her breath.

Riddle's smile quickly faded as something dark and menacing settled within his face. Hermione paled slightly, but tried to continue as though she hadn't noticed his change in demeanor. He stood still, hands clasped behind his back as he watched her work. After several moments of palpitating silence Hermione looked up at him.

"Is there something I can help you with?" Hermione grabbed the glass jar which held the dry ingredients she had processed and mixed early that day.

"This potion requires two people to be completely and fully tested. The day is done, we will continue tomorrow."

"You mean _I_ will continue tomorrow, and _you_ will show up when it's convenient for you?" Hermione said as she walked over and grabbed the cauldron from its previous resting place to where she currently worked.

"Of course," he smiled mockingly.

Hermione ignored him as she began to pull out her measuring flask and scales. She reached over to take out the ashwinder eggs, when suddenly the crate jerked away from her on its own accord, and began to be magically filled with its withdrawn contents before hovering to be placed back within the cupboard.

"What are you doing?" Hermione said in frustration as she walked over to Riddle who had brandished his wand and pretended to focus intently on the simple spell.

"I said the day is _done. _We will continue tomorrow," he ordered her as though she were a young child being told to do their chores.

"What if I disagree? What if I choose to continue working?"

"Then that is at your own risk. The halls of Hogwarts aren't as safe as the staff claims them to be. It would be wise if students did not stay out later than advised, especially someone like you," Riddle spoke plainly, but Hermione caught the dark undertone he held within his words as he looked her up and down.

"What is that supposed to mean? Are you implying that I cannot take care of myself?" Hermione asked in frustration, despite feeling slightly fearful at what meaning his words could possibly hold.

"That's exactly what I am implying," Riddle said in a bored manner. "Besides, being out of your commons after ten is a violation of school policy. You wouldn't want a prefect to have to escort to the Headmaster's office on the terms of causing trouble after hours would you, Miss Sivad?"

Hermione suddenly became very aware of the "P" that rested on the breast of his cloak. Tom Riddle always had something up his sleeve when it came to getting his way—even if it meant using his prefect status as leverage. Her eyes peered at him through slits upon realizing her lack of having an actual choice.

"Fine." She crossed her arms, averting her eyes to the classroom. On the desk where Riddle had sat laid _Liquid Love_by Selpha Marvick. Hermione had been checking back each week since her first trip to the library concerning the project. To her dismay, every time she had inquired about the book it had already been checked out. She quickly picked it up and flipped to the inside of the front cover. On the last line of the catalog card, written in neat penmanship, was the name Tom Marvolo Riddle.

"I have not neglected the project like you were so quick to believe," Riddle spoke as he studied his wand lazily, "I have found many useful points and theories within the text. Perhaps I will even share them with you, if you will not throw around accusations."

"All right, fine," Hermione sighed. She felt guilty for suddenly accusing him of forgoing the project without founded proof. Perhaps what he was "busy" with wasn't important or even a good reason, but he did have a book pertaining to the project and had been reading it when she awoke. But ever since Riddle had invaded her personal barriers by reading her mind, she had felt frustrated by him. Every step forward felt like two steps back.

Hermione walked over, closed the book on dream theory she had been reading before falling asleep, and pushed it and the other materials into her satchel before grabbing her robe off the back of her chair and placing it atop the bag. She slung it across her body and waited for Riddle.

He walked to the very back of the darkened classroom and withdrew a bundled of folded paper, then he walked back and tossed it onto the desk in front of Hermione. _The Daily Prophet _landed with a thud on the hard wooden surface of the table. Riddle began gathering his things, face impassive.

Hermione squinted her eyes to view the text in the dimly lit classroom.

"_BROOMSTICKS INNKEEPER DIES AFTER SNAKE BITE"_

Hermione paled as bile threatened to rise up her throat. The man had been a nuisance and a potential danger to her, but he hadn't deserved to die. She could have handled the situation. She _should have _handled the situation, but then again, Hermione had no clue that Nyoka was poisonous. What if she had gotten bitten by the snake unbeknownst to its capabilities? She paled. Hermione picked up the newspaper and continued reading.

_"Three Broomsticks Innkeeper, Greg Harvens, died last week after being bitten by a poisonous snake inside the inn's cellar and collapsing, hitting his head on a barrel of mead before passing out. The coroners say that when Harvens was discovered later that night, medics which apparated from St. Mungo's went to work to revive Harvens. After several minutes of attempts, Harvens was declared dead at the scene. The incident happened on Hogsmeade weekend—an event in which Hogwarts students 3_ _rd_ _ year and up go to the town for a day of fun. The inn expresses its relief that no students were harmed during their outing. Harvens left no will, therefore, assistant manager, Melody Malone will take over in his place and continue running the inn."_

Hermione sat the paper down, her mouth open slightly and her brow knitted in guilt. Had she not been present that day Mr. Harvens never would have died. Hermione began to feel fearful. What consequences would the future hold because of her actions? She looked up to Riddle apprehensively. He stood before her, his face still impassive.

"You're afraid I will tell," Riddle said in a monotone. Hermione chewed on the inside of her lip apprehensively as he seemed to ponder a decision, putting her on edge. He stared hard at her for several moments, scrutinizing her. Hermione's throat continued to seize as her fate hanged in the balance.

"I won't tell," Riddle finally spoke, his tone almost careless. A breath that she had been holding was released.

"I didn't mean for that to happen…" Hermione said, her voice slightly pained at the thought of the old man suffering alone.

"An accident—to an extent—but it happened nonetheless." Riddle rounded the table he had been standing behind until he stood before her.. She backed away to keep a comfortable distance between them.

"Tell me this: what would you have done if your pet _hadn't_ been there? What if he had you backed into a corner, shouting profanities, threats, brandishing a wand ready to strike? _What would you do?"_ He looked at her intently.

"I would have broken away and ran back into the inn," Hermione said simply.

"You can't escape, he has you trapped," Riddle responded.

"Then I shout for help." She crossed her arms assuredly.

"There isn't any help to be found. No one can hear you," Riddle countered once more.

"Then I try to reason with him," Hermione said, trying to brush him off.

"He is beyond reasoning," Riddle spoke as he walked toward her.

"Then I punch him," Hermione retorted as she began taking a step back with each step he took forward.

"Physical attacks won't work, he is too strong." At this point, Riddle had backed Hermione to a wall. As he loomed down upon her, her heart began to beat faster.

"Then I simply bid him good day," she said finitely.

"Formalities won't work," Riddle laughed sarcastically as he withdrew his wand from the inner pocket of his robes. He pointed it at Hermione. "The clock is ticking, he is about to strike."

Hermione tapped her foot pretending to be impatient of his imposing display. Riddle looked as though he were thinking for a moment before his lip curled slightly.

"_Avada—"_

Hermione reacted in a flurry. With all her might she knocked Riddle's hand with the back of hers, sending his wand sailing from his grip and across the room. She pulled her wand from her skirt pocket and pointed it at his jugular. A flurry of emotion flickering across her face all at once.

"Then I _kill_ him," Hermione spat before bumping into him hard as she walked past him and out the door.

Riddle quickly fell into step beside her after securing the classroom's door with a locking charm.

"That's what I wanted to hear," he said in a casual tone despite what had just taken place. "In a situation as such, you don't always have time to be _rational_. You can't simply wish it away, you have to act. In a matter of your life or his, of life or death, you cannot hesitate to strike, lest you be stricken. I had no intentions of using an unforgiveable, but would he have been so hesitant?"

Hermione ignored him. He had a point and he had made it well. She knew that if it came down to it, down to her life or someone else's for the sake of getting home and completing her mission, if she had no choice and no other options, she would kill. Then again, she was quite sure the innkeeper wasn't going to use an unforgiveable on her, but if he didn't, what had he planned to do as he had begun pulling her through the cellar? Hermione didn't want to think about what would have happened, but neither did she want to think on what _had_ happened either. She wondered if Riddle would have so readily used the spell even at this young of an age. She knew that he had only been trying to provoke her into saying what she would ultimately do, but knowing that it was that particular unforgiveable nearly rolling off the lips of the same being that killed countless innocents... it was something she never wanted to hear.

After walking in silence with Riddle escorting her for some time, he spoke up once more.

"What is her name?"

"Whose name?" Hermione asked flat-toned.

"Your snake," Riddle said casually.

"Her name is Nyoka. How did you know it was a _she_?" Hermione knew _how_ he knew; it was due to being a parseltongue, but she wanted to hear the lie that he would choose to give as substitute to the truh.

"The markings on her tail, obviously," Riddle said coolly. Had she not known of his abilities, she would have never been suspicious. His ability to lie and do so easily, without fault, and be believable unsettled her.

They walked in silence a while longer.

"Nyoka is a strange name," Riddle said plainly.

"I didn't pick the name," Hermione nearly laughed sarcastically in thought of the snake's guile.

"Then who did?" Riddle questioned, looking out of the corner of his eye suspiciously.

"My father did. He did the experiments, not me. He just gifted Nyoka to me because he thought us fitting for one another," Hermione said calmly, rivaling Riddle with her ability to lie so quickly and successfully.

"Hm…"

Or at least she hoped.

They did not speak again until Hermione reached the entrance to the Ravenclaw tower. She wasn't going to thank him for escorting her—he had practically forced her back against her will, so she settled with nodding to him before solving the day's riddle the winged door knocker had to offer. Once solved, the door opened and she stepped across the threshold.

"If she were mine, I would name her Nagini," Riddle told her as ambitious thoughts swam through his head.

Hermione froze, the gears turning and clicking together in her head. Her mind immediately floated to Harry's talks of a large, green snake slithering across the floor of a large home. Then her thoughts drifted to Harry seeing through the eyes of a snake as it attacked Mr. Weasley violently at the Ministry.

If she failed, would that mean that Nyoka, who had become a confidant to her, would ultimately become Nagini, the Dark Lord's own subject?

More importantly, in the consequences of cause and effect, does that mean in her time that she had already failed?

Hermione straightened her back before turning to face him. She couldn't fail. She wouldn't let down those back home. She planned to succeed, no matter what it takes—even if it meant never returning home.

"Tomorrow," she affirmed and closed the door shut behind her.


	17. The Truth Unravels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione trains to face Riddle and learns more about the mysterious Alphard Corvus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here is update 1 of 2 today! This chapter was fun to write and is a little different than the others, but definitely interesting and important to the story. You all had so many questions from the last chapter. I hope this chapter clears things up...or adds more questions to your brain.
> 
> Thanks for all the support! I hope you all enjoy this chapter. :)
> 
> **Not all Pottermore, Fantastic Beasts, and Cursed Child content is included in this story--this is AU, please be aware.**

The days passed slowly, but surely. Riddle had shown for their scheduled project dates, but always slightly late. They conversed casually, more civilly, but Hermione could feel a slight tension in the air, almost as though he wished to speak with her more. On occasion, Hermione had asked him how his day went, but it always ended with a curt, "quite fine." Or she would ask if he needed anything else before their potion sessions wrapped up. Riddle would sometimes look thoughtful before smirking slightly, telling her a simple no, and going on his way.

Riddle's current disposition left her curious, and caused her skin to crawl. Since his mentioning that if Nyoka were his familiar he would call her Nagini, Hermione had begun to worry that maybe the serpent's fate, too, was entwined in hers and the result of her successes or failures. The serpent and her had become companions--_friends, _even. Hermione did not wish to see Nyoka fall to mere servitude for the future Dark Lord.

The second week of October was drawing to a close. The chill that had settled in the air had crept into her bones, leaving her feeling hollow and ghostly like the halls at night. She had yet to hear mention of petrification—let alone the basilisk—and something in her gut told her that it wouldn't be much longer.

"_Stupefy! Everte Statum! Expulso!" _Hermione shouted, wand pointed at her target: a human-sized practice dummy with a bucket for a head. The large, stuffed sack with limbs that had been charmed to move back and forth in unexpected patterns quickly ceased floating, frozen in midair. At her next command, the dummy was thrown back across the room and hit the opposing wall. Then, on her final words, the dummy's stuffing expanded, pulling the sewn seams apart and pouring off-white fluff on the ground.

Hermione stood huffing in quick breaths and smiling slightly at the numerous torn, shredded, and distilled training dummies that now lay strewn across the Room of Requirement. She couldn't help but feel proud at her mastery of how quickly she could perform the specific spell combination. She had been practicing her offensive and defensive spells, barely allowing time for a break. She knew that if this were a true scenario, she wouldn't have time to relax.

She closed her eyes and imagined a cup of cool, clear water in a glass. Upon opening them, she saw a tall, crystal glass of water sitting upon a wooden stool. She gulped the liquid down greedily, wiping her mouth on the back of her arm that was exposed from rolling up the sleeves of her school jumper prior to her target practice. Her hair stuck to her forehead and neck from the perspirations of her workout. She pulled her frizzing curls up into a ponytail, securing it with the elastic band that she had been wearing on her wrist.

She looked around the Room of Requirement. When pacing by quietly in the late hours of the night, she had imagined in her head a soundproof place to train her spells and provide her with the tools she needed to prepare for the following weeks. The Room had conjured up the same layout that Harry had imagined during the training sessions for Dumbledore's Army in their fifth year. She smiled to herself about the Room's ability to pick on the slightest details her brain held within.

Hermione made her way over to the mirror that sat in the corner of the room. It was a long, tri-folding mirror that had an elegant, gold swirling design. The gold of the mirror was tarnishing, but it still held a beautiful glow. Hermione walked over to the mirror, her shoes echoing the room as they hit the floor. She stood in front of the mirror and examined herself. She allowed her eyes to meet those of the girl in the mirror. The same, pale irises stared back, still giving her chills, but instead of looking away, Hermione maintained eye contact with her looking-glass self and sat down.

Ever since her eyes had changed, she had changed, but had yet come to terms with it all. Her eyes were gray, she could talk to snakes, she was sorted into Ravenclaw—it was all things she had failed to truly acknowledge or even question. Even if she had had the chance, would she want to know the details? The prophecy hadn't specified. She was tired of running away from what she had become. She was tired of allowing what she had become to change who she was. Why should it change her, the way she felt, and what she thought? Outwardly, she had not changed much, but inside, she felt that there were pieces of her that she no longer knew, that she was no longer familiar with. She needed the answers, and she knew how to find them.

Hermione took deep breaths, slowing her heartbeat and calming her nerves.

"_Legilimens!"_

A sharp pain hit struck her head as the words left her lips. In a flurry she saw the shadow of something large and dark screeching and hissing as it extended a set of feathery wings, her mind spun past a flurry of animal masks laughing crudely, then she heard a voice, seeming to scratch the edges of her mind, saying, "_The answers you seek are hidden in these very walls… I have seen your face… I know you… He knows you… And they are coming..."_

Her mind then kicked out the intrusion, causing Hermione to fall backward from the mirror, grasping her head as sharp pains coursed throughout. These thoughts were hers, they were part of her, they were memories—yet she didn't remember any of them. A sign that didn't bode well. She tried to get her mind to process the final words. At the Slug Club initiation, Riddle had pulled part of the words from her mind and she had hadn't recognized them then. Now that she had more to go off of, she still couldn't recall hearing the phrase before. The voice, however, was familiar to Hermione. She tried to focus on the voice, but her head pounded furiously.

She sat up, groaning, and applied pressure to her temples. It alleviated the pain slightly, but not enough to keep her from wincing. She could imagine it being easier to master legilimens on another test subject besides oneself, but what choice did she have? Working with animals wasn't ideal for this subject area, yet, she couldn't just go up to another student and request to delve into their inner most thoughts with her mind. Neither could she go to a Hogwarts' staff member and ask them to teach her. Building up a resistance against mind intrusions was one thing, but having them demonstrate on her would not bode well and she knew they would not allow her to intrude upon their thoughts due to their own disclosed knowledge of Hogwarts and its students. Who would teach her on her terms without question and effectively?

_Tom Riddle had taught himself._

Hermione scoffed at her own thoughts. Of course she would ask the future Dark Lord to help her read minds, and of course he would use that to his advantage somehow. She rolled her eyes, causing more pain in her head. Wincing, she couldn't help but wonder how he taught himself without causing such immense pain during the process. Had he even practiced on himself? She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

She stood up uneasily and allowed the Room of Requirement to conjure a door for her to go through. She cast a disillusionment charm and a silencing spell on herself before walking through the threshold and into the dark halls of Hogwarts. Her head, pounded as hard as ever. Dreading the thought of going to bed with the pain, she made a detour and began to make headway for the infirmary. With access to magical medicine, surely her symptoms would lessen faster and more effieciently.

Not wishing to walk the full two flights of stairs, Hermione opened the portrait with the sleeping dragon and began passing through after casting lumos to light her way.

"How curious: a little ball of floating light," Alphard Corvus spoke from his painting on the wall. "Good evening, ball of light, or shall I call you something more appropriate, like "Phillip? Phillip the floating ball of light? Or perhaps just Phil?"

Hermione's head pulsed with each foolish word he strung together with another. Dispelling the disillusionment charm and silencing spell, Hermione faced him angrily.

"Well, look who it is? Aren't you a sight for sore eyes? Literally, in fact, you look awful," Alphard cringed.

"I planned to make my way to the infirmary as we speak, but I can't take all of this." She waved her hand in the direction of his painting. "My head is killing me."

"A headache? That's all?" Alphard laughed at her seemingly simplistic malady.

"It's not just any headache. It's a headache by magic," Hermione clarified, frustrated.

"A magical headache? What, did you try to read your own mind?"

Hermione said nothing and scowled at him. Alphard burst into laughter.

"I know you. You are the type to try such a thing—at least without any precautions the first time. Always have to do it by yourself, eh?" he called after her retreating form.

"Goodnight, Alphard," She spat, as she cast the disillusion and silencing spells back on herself before extinguishing her wand and opening the painting leading out of the passageway.

She was careful not to jostle the sleeping men who had ceased their card games for the night, and continued on to the infirmary.

Hermione gently creaked open the door to the infirmary as to not startle any students who might be patients. She saw a small lumped form on a cot near the back part of the great room. The student's skin tone was a sickly green color, prominent even in the pale moonlight streaming through the windows. Hermione wrinkled her nose at the poor soul and knocked on the mediwitch's door leading to her own personal quarters and storage facility.

Almost immediately, Madam Meriwether bustled forward in a night cap and white gown. Hermione was grateful the woman was a light sleeper.

"What's wrong, my dear," the mediwitch asked, eyebrows furrowing in worry.

"I am sorry to bother you, but I have an absolutely dreadful headache and haven't been able to rest because of it," Hermione lied.

"No apologies necessary, deary, it's what I do," Meriwether said as she whipped out a stout wand and illuminated the tip, waving it in front of Hermione's face, insisting that she follow it with her eyes. Hermione cringed as her head throbbed from the brightness. Dissatisfied with whatever results she found, Meriwether placed the back of her hand on Hermione's forehead.

"Are you sure that it's just a headache? No cold chills, fever, or upset stomach?" Madam Meriwether had taken in her appearance, observing her sweat dried hair and dark circles under her eyes, and felt worried.

"None at all, just a terrible headache," Hermione assured her, but the mediwitch still looked skeptical.

"Alright, wait just a moment." Meriwether scurried off and returned moments later with a small vial. "Here you are, dear, this is a basic pain draught. It ought to help with any type of standard headache—slight pain to intense migraine. If it feels like it hasn't worked in the next two hours, make sure to return immediately, it could be something far more taxing."

Hermione took the vial and tilted it upward, gulping down the chalky potion and scrunching her face in disgust. Meriwether handed her a tall glass of water and Hermione drank and swished the liquid around in her mouth to rid herself of the unpleasant taste.

"I will, Madam Meriwether," Hermione said in regards to the medic's last statement, before saying thank you and leaving the infirmary.

Hermione casted the disillusionment and silencing charms over herself once more and paced herself in the hope that the headache would cease before reaching her dormitory; it would be impossible for her to go to sleep with it. She saw the portrait of the sleeping card players and was questioning whether or not she could bear taking a shortcut at the expense of Alphard Corvus jabbering about frivolous things. She thought about the nonsense he had spewed previously, but something stuck out in his words. Something Hermione had heard before.

_I know you._

The words Alphard had said.

"_The answers you seek are hidden in these very walls… I have seen your face… I know you… He knows you… And they are coming..."_

The voice from the night when she had ran into Hadrian after exiting the library. The same words spoken in the same manner. It was Alphard Corvus. He had spoken to her. Hermione's thoughts immediately stopped dwelling on her head pains as she dashed forward and entered the passageway in search of answers.

"You!" Hermione shouted. Alphard's head tilted slightly in the portrait, his brow furrowed as he listened. Remembering the charms she had cast, she quickly removed both of them and illuminated her wand.

_"You," _Hermione said breathlessly, her wand hanging limply by her side in exhaustion.

Alphard smiled knowingly.

_"Me."_

"Why didn't you speak up sooner?" Hermione asked him in frustration.

"Because I knew that when the time was right, you would find me and seek out the answers you need," Alphard said as-a-matter-of-factly. "Am I wrong?"

"No. However, why did you speak to me that night? And couldn't you have done it in a more _polite_ way? I nearly passed out during the process." Hermione crossed her arms uncomfortably in remembering that night and how hard the sensations of illness had hit her when he spoke. Unsure of where this was heading, Hermione grew nervous.

"There are many things I learned in my time, Hermione, not all of them niceties. Some ways of doing things require a little consequence to be done—especially after being dead for quite some time. I had to reach you somehow, and I finally had the opportunity, but make no mistake, it wasn't easy," Alphard spoke evenly, gauging her reactions. When she didn't speak, he continued.

"We are connected, you and I, Hermione. I sensed you in a weakened mental state within the castle, and perhaps it was poor timing, but I saw no other window of chance in the near future. I had to deliver my message to prepare you, but I never fully had the chance to finish, if you recall," Alphard chastised her sarcastically.

Hermione remembered the feeling of being taken over and shouting an anti-possession spell in her mind.

"So you_ were_ possessing me! What did you expect? An open invitation?" Hermione spat back. Ever since Ginny Weasley's incident with Voldemort in her second year, the thought of not being in control of her own actions and judgment never sat well with her.

"As soon as I relayed my message, I planned to cease doing so, but I barely had the opportunity."

"Alright, fine. I am sorry for not feeling open to the idea of becoming a potential vessel, good intentions or not," Hermione said sarcastically, her head still pounding.

"You are quite the stubborn one," Alphard sighed. "Regardless, I will indulge you if you will stop your senseless aggravations." When Hermione nodded begrudgingly in agreement to his terms and conditions, he gestured for her to sit down with his ring-clad hand. Hermione sat down upon the cold, stone floor of the narrow passageway and waited.

"Where would you like to begin?" Alphard smiled as though he had been waiting centuries for this moment._ Perhaps he had been. _Hermione thought.

"You said "they are coming." Who are _"they"_ and who is it that knows of me?" Hermione started her questioning, but stopped herself from letting them all tumble out at once.

"It depends on who you see as a threat, Hermione. There are many people who are in the process of approaching you within this timeline and your own—some more threatening than others, and some not a threat at all, depending on your choices. There is a particular group fast approaching that I am sure you are quite aware of already."

"The Knights," Hermione answered easily. She had felt it for some time now, that sense of foreboding that she couldn't shake. The Knights of Walpurgis had already formed in Tom's era and it was clear that they were still searching for new, potential recruits. The Knights were nothing more than the future bidders of the Dark Lord and current puppets of Riddle. Hermione knew that the Knights would know nothing of Tom Riddle's ties to the basilisk attacks that were soon to mark history, but that didn't change the fact that they would spawn generations of coldhearted Death Eaters.

"Yes, and although they seem to be a threat most imminent, they are far from the darkest of evils, in or outside the walls of Hogwarts during this time."

"But who—"

"I cannot say. Time is fragile and you already know way more than I had intended, but take my word, Hermione, there are greater evils that can't be helped, greater and beyond that of Tom Marvolo Riddle."

Hermione nodded and felt uneasy. How was it that this mysterious man was made present in both her time and Riddle's—though in different scenarios—yet he knew more than she had even yet discovered on her own? The man was quiet in his portrait, waiting for her to speak, knowing she had questions. Hermione swallowed, trying to process all the information she had just received. What Alphard told her wasn't exactly solid answers, but she knew that she would find them with time, making her worry and wonder if she would be prepared to face her "answers" head on when they came to reveal themselves. Hermione pulled herself from the depths of her mind and focused on asking more questions; it would do her no good to fear what has yet to happen or even remotely come to pass.

"Who are you and how do you know so much about me?" Hermione asked, but hardly was expecting an answer.

"Of all people I was quite sure_ you_ would have come across some sort of reading material in your time that mentioned me, but I guess when others wish to forgo the past for the sake of a solid, proud history then they can truly weed out what they see unfit."

You see, I am very much a part of this school as any other student or teacher that has graced its halls—more so in fact. I was born here, raised here, and lived here for most of my life. I know more secrets than any book or map could reveal, yet was told to keep them to myself. My life was one of forfeit and unfairness, yet I found ways to even the playing field and make new discoveries despite what my superiors suggested I do. I felt very much like you do, Hermione. I was placed into a situation beyond my control, given specific instructions on what to do and what not to do, and told to influence history as little as possible—but we both know that's not very probable when you feel a great change is about to happen," Alphard chuckled.

Hermione's brow furrowed.

"Then who are you?" She asked slowly.

"A child who was never meant to be. I am Alphard Corvus, son of Salazar Slytherin and Rowena Ravenclaw."

Hermione's eyes nearly bugged out of her head. In every instances of reading and seeking out any and all material pertaining to the history of Hogwarts and its founders, she had never found anything about Slytherin and Ravenclaw having a child together.

"I believe I am the only bastard child in all of history to have both parents present in my life. Mother did more to accept me than Father, but even she shied away from admitting my lineage to herself and others. I was treated more like a burden or a mistake than I was a son. As a result, I was simply told to follow in-line with all the other students and act like a stranger gracing the halls for the first time. I learned from them as they were my teachers, but I never found their words of encouragement to be valuable when directed toward me. They would advise the students with great honor and pride, yet when it came to me, they offered the same words, but they were empty of promise."

It's quite funny, you see, my father being the greatest of the Speakers and my mother being gifted with vast knowledge and affinities of her own… yet here I was, sorted under the name of Godric Gryffindor. Though he never spoke of it, Gryffindor knew the truth and decidedly became a mentor of sorts to me as a young child. My father took great spite against him, however. Perhaps it was for providing me with attention I was unfit to have, or maybe it was because he was jealous that he could never form that kind of relationship with his own son, or perhaps the disagreements ran deeper between Gryffindor and Slytherin than what history suggests. Regardless, Gryffindor ceased being an openly close mentor to me and settled for speaking in hushed tones and sending unmarked letters of encouragement."

Alphard's face was weary and he smiled bitterly at the memories that he held from so long ago. Hermione's heart ached for him; though he said they can empathize with one another she could never fully understand what it must feel like to have experienced the things that he has. Being unwanted was another matter entirely and Hermione found herself wondering if that is how Riddle had often felt.

"I'm sorry…" Hermione said awkwardly as she fumbled for words in response.

Alphard laughed aloud.

"No need for sincerities, I am no charity case. I haven't been completely just and good, I have made many mistakes—some of which others are still suffering for today." Alphard grew solemn.

"So… how does this pertain to me? How are we connected?" Hermione asked him, unsure of how to handle situation in accordance to the new information she had just been told.

"It has everything to do with you. Did you not read the prophecy?" Alphard asked, rubbing his hand down his face in pent up frustration.

"Albus Dumbledore visited me and read it to me, but he didn't offer a copy…" Hermione attempted to defend her ignorance. She had only taken the pieces of information that Dumbledore had analyzed as solid truths instead of asking for her own copy to pick apart. She snickered to herself slightly; she was becoming as bad as Harry in putting her complete understanding in Dumbledore's hands—she knew he harbored far too many secrets.

Alphard rolled his eyes and recited:

_"The one who is deemed sound shall inherit his fortunes and his faults; the heir of a great legacy, the harbinger of many truths._   
_A magic beyond any other; never written down or spoken._   
_The power of blood will be given as once was taken; purified from any barrier._   
_Time will hold no boundary, for the heir shall know none._   
_Familiar to them, they will stop the opposition from great success._   
_Either of the two forces cannot be vanquished without the aid of the heir._   
_All shall fall as the ninth month approaches..."_

"How did you know that off the top of your head?" Hermione asked him quizzically.

"If I didn't, I would be quite embarrassed, I wrote the damned thing for heaven's sake." Alphard retorted.

"You? You _wrote_ it?" Hermione was finding all of this a little too much to take in.

"Yes, I wrote it. Not impressed? It took me three full days just to make it understandable, but it obviously hasn't done so well in relaying information effectively. You are the heir the prophecy talks about, Hermione, in case you still have your doubts."

Dumbledore had his suspicions and although Hermione had confidence in his ability of deduction, she had still tried to ignore the obvious; it wasn't something she was ready to face.

"So I am the heiress, then?"

"I never saw the need to specify with gender specific terms… too technical…" He trailed off.

"Alphard! It's true then?" Hermione snapped at him, bringing him back from his ponderings.

"Do I really have to repeat myself? _Yes_, it's true."

"Then who am I the heir of?" Hermione waited, she had somehow made it to her knees in anticipation, her palms sweaty.

"And here I thought I had family issues… my own daughter doesn't even recognize me," Alphard chuckled.

Then before Hermione could ask any further questions, the portrait of the handsome man froze, signaling the rising of the sun, and she was left with more questions forming than answers found. She couldn't believe what she had just heard. It just didn't make since. It was simply not possible. _Or was it?_

Hermione's headache came back with a vengeance, and it was something the couldn't be cured with any number of draughts or hours of sleep. Although time was the only thing she truly had that was precious, this was the one instance where she longed to waste it away-even if only to find open-ended answers and truths she wished she had kept hidden away.


	18. The Brightest Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Christopher talk and make flower bracelets. Alphard Corvus admits he stretched the truth too far and reveals more than Hermione could have anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here is update 2 for today with a new chapter! I will not be posting tomorrow (I'll be busy when I return back to work), but this weekend should bring 2 or more chapters coming your way! Thanks for all the support, love, and kindness! I hope this chapter clears up a few things for you all.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this next chapter! Stay awesome!

Hermione trudged through the following day with nothing able to occupy her mind or time other than thoughts about the conversation she had with Alphard Corvus that previous night. Her headache had dulled to a slow, constant throbbing and at this point she couldn't tell if it was from attempting to practice legilimency on herself while looking in the mirror or because of the frustrating note her conversation with the handsome portrait had ended on.

_My own daughter doesn't even recognize me_, he had said, and Hermione was thrown for an unexpected loop. Everything he told her led up to her viewing him as nothing more than a fountain, spewing up elaborate, exaggerated tales that were all part of some sick, twisted joke. Hermione felt that the frame holding him inside might as well be tilted as to show how off-kilter and insane the man was_. If magical portraits truly captured the essence of the person, then it was clear that he must've went mad during the time of the painting's creation._

Hermione sat outside Hogwarts among the castle's never-ending shadows that it always would cast after midday. The air was crisp and cool and she knew that she would soon be needing a scarf when traveling out. The wind breezed gently across her face, stirring her curls about in their wake and blocking her view of the book she was currently reading for her Transfiguration class. She tucked the curls behind her ear and pulled the mass of her hair over her left shoulder. She tried to read the passage again, but with the dull pounding in her head and Alphard's words flowing perfectly in sync with every thud, she felt it was hopeless. She slammed the book shut and tossed it onto the grass away from her with a huff.

She leaned back against the cool stone of the castle, crossed her arms, and closed her eyes. She might be having a bad time, but she wasn't going to spoil it for Nyoka. Between her classes, Tom Riddle, and now Alphard Corvus, she hadn't had the time to take the serpent outside at all—a point she should be making to do so, especially with winter on its way. Her messenger bag—charmed to be slightly bigger on the inside and light to carry—held neatly stacked books on the inside, but no Nyoka. The serpent had slithered out a little under an hour ago to hunt and bask in the ever-fleeting sunlight. Hermione had promised her at _least_ over an hour of outdoor activities due to Nyoka's ramblings of "bad owner" and "dusty castle mice."

Hermione allowed her hands to brush the cold grass beside her, before ripping up a handful and letting it drift away in the wind, each blade catching a current of their own. She let her hand drift near her face and took in the smell the grass had left behind, reminding her faintly of what it smelled like in the summer when freshly cut. She thought of Ron, of the Weasleys, and of the burrow. Her heart panged as their faces flashed through her head. She shook the images away and sighed before standing up and walking toward one of the many young trees that scattered throughout the grounds of Hogwarts.

She picked up the small, spindly twigs that had fallen before their time of growing had come, choosing the most flexible ones. After gathering a bundle and a handful of late-blooming dandelions, Hermione walked back to her spot under the castle's shadow and sat down. She began twisting and braiding the flexible twigs together into a circular shape. She nestled the flowers into the grooves of the flimsy wood and carefully wove and tied their stems to the twigs. After working several long minutes, she held the final creation in her hand and smiled. A small flower bracelet rested in her palm. She still remembered how her mother had taught her the trick of using nature as an accessory during the spring and summer. She had even once made Hermione a crown of flowers. How, she would never know, but at least the lesson on how to make bracelets had stuck and allowed Hermione to entertain herself.

Hermione had never been the type of young girl who took a particular interest in makeup or attempting to wear her mother's heels as she grew older like many of the muggle girls she had once been friends with did. Therefore, when Hermione's mother showed her how to use nature as a beautifier before diamonds and pearls, she was sold.

Hermione sat aside the bracelet she had just made and began going to work on another when she heard a set of footsteps approach her.

"Flower bracelets?" Christopher Goldstein questioned with a tilted head, his sandy blond hair catching the wind. He stood with his hands in the pockets of his trousers. He wore his Ravenclaw jumper to brace himself from the chilling air.

"Um-hmm, my mother taught me how to make them when I was young," Hermione smiled up at him before returning to weaving her twigs.

"Aviela used to make those things when we were younger. She always used me as the mannequin when sizing them," he confessed while rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Hermione laughed slightly at the thought of Christopher being decorated from head to toe in daisies and dandelions.

"So you know how to make them then?"

"Unfortunately," he said. Hermione motioned for him to sit with the slight tilt of her head. Christopher accepted her invitation and sat down, picking up a few twigs of his own and weaving them together.

"So, how have you been?" Christopher asked after a few moments of silence while they worked.

"I'm fine," Hermione said a little too quickly, a little too defensively. "Sorry, I mean I've been doing alright. Just busy with school and Slughorn's project. You?"

"Same—minus the whole slug thing," Christopher stammered. "With it being mine and Aviela's last year, there isn't much left we have to do other than attend and pass it seems."

Hermione had nearly forgotten Christopher and Aviela were a year above her—particularly because she frequented them so much rather than those within her own year. She would have been remorseful in knowing that they were leaving at the end of the year if she didn't have plans to leave as well and head back to her own time.

"Will you miss it?" Hermione questioned as she lifted a flower to her twig bracelet and worked it in.

"Hogwarts? Yeah, of course. Who wouldn't? I am sure Aviela has told you that I've had a… rough time in the past adjusting to my surroundings here, but it's gotten better, really. I've made some friends with people in other houses."

"And me," Hermione added.

"Ye-yeah... I guess you're right," Christopher stammered, a slight blush tinting his freckled face. Hermione smiled at him. He reminded her so much of Ron.

After several moments of silent working, they both finished their bracelets and held them aloft in the wind. Christopher's bracelet had less splits and was more tightly woven. Comparing the two, Hermione's looked half-heartedly done. She placed her newly finished bracelet atop the other one beside her. She then wondered why she had never sat with Ron or Harry and made bracelets. It would have made a nice memory. Maybe they still could.

Hermione's brow had furrowed and she reached into the diminishing pile of twigs to start another one when Christopher reached for her hand, immediately retracting it before they touched. He had a look of nervousness on his face.

"Hermione, I… Are you sure you're fine? Aviela said she has seen you sneaking off late into the night and not coming back until sunrise. She said you haven't been at dinner much and you look ill. We're all worried. Minerva even came to Aviela asking about you. No one has seen much of you lately," he gushed quickly like it was something he had pent up, although she was almost sure that he had something else to say at first. She could tell he wouldn't settle for another "I'm fine."

"I've just been stressed out lately, I guess. I've had a lot of school work and on top of that some… past family issues," she reassured him, but used the term "family issues" lightly as she anonymously referred to Alphard Corvus. "I just have a lot on my plate right now and I've found that night walks help give me some peace when I'm restless. I am sorry to have worried you all, it's just something I don't really feel comfortable talking about."

Christopher looked down at the bracelet in his hand and looked disheartened.

"Are you sure? No one has been treating you bad have they? If so, I'll… I'll…"

"No, no! No one has bothered me, Chris, I'm fine," She assured him as he trailed off and blushed when she used his shortened name. "Thank you, for being so considerate, though. It means a lot, truly. I'll try to make myself livelier."

"Well… just act how you feel, but remember you have friends, you have us—Aviela, Minerva, Hagrid—me. Just don't feel you have to go it alone, alright?" Christopher stood and brushed off his pants to rid himself of any grass or dirt.

"Thanks, Christopher," Hermione said as she reached out and grabbed his hand, giving it a tight squeeze before letting go.

"Here, you can have this. I guess it can be a friendship bracelet of sorts. It would be rather odd for me to carry to Charms anyway," Christopher affirmed as he rubbed the back of his neck again. He extended his palm holding the bracelet to Hermione. She lifted the delicate piece of jewelry and put it on with a laugh.

"I guess it is a friendship bracelet," Hermione said as she held her wrist aloft, examining it. "Thanks again. See you all for dinner?"

"Sure thing," Chris said before he nervously patted his hands on his thighs and turned to go back to the castle. She stood and watch him go, imagining the tall, lanky sandy-haired boy had fire red hair and a Chudley Cannons jersey on.

"_What did you say to the boy? You must have had him terrified. I could feel him shaking from all the way by the tree," _Nyoka hissed as she slithered up beside Hermione's bag.

"Nothing. We just simply talked," Hermione confided.

She looked down at the bracelet she wore on her wrist. It had been made with deft, steady hands. It was something she hadn't expected Christopher—who was nervous and shy—to have done.

* * *

Hermione finally frequented her house's table and was happy to find that Minerva McGonagall had joined them for the evening. They talked about the upcoming quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin as well as next weekend's Hogsmeade visit looming ever closer. Everyone was becoming abuzz with guessing what the Halloween Ball's theme would be when revealed the following Monday. Aviela chattered on about what she had chosen for her costume in being part of the committee and knowing the theme while Minerva formulated who would take whom when the matchmaking portion began.

Hermione looked around the Great Hall. Hagrid laughed loudly with some fellow Gryffindors who had befriended him and she smiled. If she did anything worthwhile in her time here, she was glad she could help Hagrid branch out. Whether it went against what had happened in her time or not she didn't know, but she didn't regret it when she saw him laugh and rumble the table slightly with his large belly. Her eyes drifted to the Slytherin table and she found herself looking for a pallid, dark haired Slytherin she hadn't seen in some time. However Tom Riddle was nowhere to be found. Neither was Abraxas or Hadrian.

Hermione turned back to Aviela when she was asked what color of shimmery material would go best with her eyes. Hermione stuffed a spoonful of peas in her mouth as she mulled it over before swallowing and saying blue. Minerva began spewing her best unlikely pairs to attend the ball when Aviela finished, causing Hermione to laugh when she said Aviela should go with Hadrian. Aviela turned several shades of pink. In their merriment Hermione hadn't noticed that Christopher, too, was absent.

* * *

Hermione pushed open the portrait and climbed into the dark passageway before removing her charms and casting _lumos._

She quickly walked up to Alphard Corvus' painting with purpose as the man inside fiddled with something hidden from sight in the portrait.

"Now what the _hell_ were you talking about last night?" Hermione spat as she crossed her arms, a day's worth of frustration coming out.

"Watch your language, _daughter. _It upsets daddy," Alphard chastised as he wiggled a finger at her.

Hermione's face grew furious and she huffed out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. When Hermione didn't say anything and threw her now-fisted hands down by her sides he broke into a hearty laughter.

"What are you laughing at?" Hermione interrogated.

"You, of course. Your reaction last night before the sun came up was worth dusting up in here for centuries," he chuckled as he pretended to wipe away a tear.

"You were lying?" Hermione was exhausted with him already.

"Yes and no, depends on how you look at things."

"Well, however the heck _you_ are looking at them is very, very twisted and absurd," Hermione huffed and crossed her arms.

"Perhaps. Would you like me to explain, or should I let you simmer for a while?"

Hermione begrudgingly sat down in front the portrait.

"Do you believe in prophecies, Miss Granger? Do you believe in things happening beyond our control—destiny, if you will?" Alphard looked at her, the smile had vanished from his face and he looked much older than what he was meant to be depicting in that painting of his.

"I—I, you mean like what Divination teaches?" Hermione struggled to find his point.

"Yes."

"I've only encountered one true prophecy, other than that I consider the whole teaching of it to be hog wash and unreliable. Even you yourself said that you simply wrote the so-called prophecy I received in my time," Hermione answered in an unforgiving tone.

"Well, then may I ask that you shove aside those thoughts for a moment and open your mind a little? You're a bright girl, Hermione, no need to affront it here. It'd be easier if you didn't," He said quickly, almost frustrated, as he reasoned with her.

"Alright…" Hermione inclined her head, "Now what does this have to—"

"It has to do with everything," Alphard cut her off, "and it's imperative you take what I say seriously and not with a grain of salt but as a whole truth."

Hermione swallowed heavily and nodded for him to continue.

"When I had finally grown up, I moved away from Hogwarts, from home, from anything and anyone who tied me down to this place and made me feel guilty for having been here to begin with. However, Helena, Rowena's daughter and my half-sister, was the exception: she never treated me like a nuisance. As children, we were close and though we knew we were siblings to some extent, Ravenclaw told us to never speak of it. So we didn't—except in private when confiding in one another. As we grew, we came to know the truth of it all, Helena didn't judge anyone but her mother and Salazar for their mistreatment of me and the unaccepting attitudes of their duties and responsibilities as parents."

"I truly admired her strong spirit. When I moved away I missed her greatly. I had traveled to Albania on my own terms and for independent studies. It was three years before I finally decided to write to her upon the grounds of my whereabouts and wellbeing. Deep down I had honestly felt as though with time she would forget me and the others would too, but I was surprised to find her on my doorstep that following week with her bags and that childish grin she had always held despite her maturity," Alphard seemed to reminisce for a moment before continuing.

"She was angry with her mother for all that she had done and wished for nothing more than to get away. I didn't care upon what grounds, I was just happy to have my sister with me once more. After a few years of us enjoying one another's company and her helping me in my research, we received an urgent owl saying Rowena was ill. Helena must've told someone where she was going for safekeeping and they deemed it as a serious enough matter to break that treaty of keeping mum. I still remember how Helena grabbed the letter, walked outside, and blasted it to bits with her wand. Although I tried to persuade her to go even still, her answer was clear," he chuckled slightly when he spoke of Helena setting the parcel aflame.

"I was gone one morning, out collecting date for a current project," Alphard seemed to grow distant. "Then when I returned, I found her, and _him_," he seethed.

"Rowena had sent the Baron for Helena after learning of her location. I had apparated into the sitting room and walked into the kitchen when I heard some odd noises. When I found her, she was lying in a pool of blood on the floor, dead, as the Baron stood over top of her in a fit of grief and rage. He said he loved her, but love doesn't kill—especially not in the way he did," Alphard spat.

Hermione remembered the rest of the tale that created the illusive Grey Lady and Bloody Baron who haunt Hogwarts even in her time, but she had a feeling that it wouldn't be as obvious as it was written.

"History says that the Baron killed himself, but history is wrong. In a fit of rage of my own, I sent the knife soaring through the air by the command of my wand, and it plunged into the bastard's heart. He grabbed it and pulled it out, but he only bled to death faster as I watched and cradled Helena. I vanished her blood away before his filthy blood could mingle with hers. I did what I could and reported the incident. The Baron was found dead alongside Helena with the same dagger he had killed her with in his hand. It was ruled a murder-suicide."

"The only person who knew better than to read the papers was the only one to seek me out and tell me to go see Rowena."

"Gryffindor," Hermione deduced.

"Gryffindor. That noble old codger could talk even Slytherin into the darnedest of things," Alphard laughed as though he had a few stories in mind.

"So you went and visited Ravenclaw?" Hermione inquired.

"Yes, but not on the terms you might think. I still feel in my heart that Ravenclaw and Slytherin are to blame for my less than ideal childhood and Helena's death, so I didn't go on good terms at all."

"Hufflepuff had passed, Ravenclaw was on her deathbed, Gryffindor found me, and no one could find Slytherin. However, Gryffindor told me that Ravenclaw had been prattling on for days about having to tell her child something important and refused to speak to anyone otherwise. He said he too would've believed it to be the prattling of an older, sickly woman, if it hadn't been for the unusual far-off look in her eyes. It wasn't enough to fully convince me to go, but I owed my old mentor that much and went on his request."

"When I arrived, Rowena was well enough to know that I wasn't Helena and to become disappointed with my presence. When she asked for her, I told her the truth—or at least the truth that history remembers. She said very little after that, and instead extended her hand toward me. I stood at her bedside and grasped it with the chiding of Gryffindor who had joined us moments earlier. Then Ravenclaw told me her prophecy."

"Wait, Ravenclaw? The founder and witch renowned for her intelligence, deduction, and fact-based ideals was a seer?" Hermione gasped as though she had just heard the greatest gossip of all time.

"Apparently her ideas was what kept it crushed down inside of her for so long," Alphard offered up. "Imagine how I felt when I saw her "inner eye" come out. I assumed she was possessed and tried to run away, naturally. Old lady had a firm grip even then," Alphard commented as he flexed his hand as though he still could feel her hand enclosed on him.

"What did she say?" Hermione had moved eagerly toward his portrait.

"If I told you I remembered all of it, I would be lying. It was so abrupt that we weren't prepared to capture it, nor did we have the time, but I do remember what Gryffindor and I deduced after."

"Ravenclaw had said something about one of the four not being content with the legacy he would leave, so he decided to do something more. He sealed away his secrets within Hogwarts for when the "time was right" and wished to purge a plague and liberate those who were pure and true. However he was old and would fail, so he planned for a line of successors to come to power when the time was right. Men by the names of Grindlewald and Voldemort were who he had chosen."

"Wait, but how could he simply _choose _his successors? This is over eight hundred years later! How could he have possibly known by name?" Hermione questioned in a flurry.

"_He _didn't, but Ravenclaw _did._ He performed some very dark magic, Hermione, some that I am still unsure of even today. He chose two beings and set them up purposefully with power in their blood, a lucky star, and a terrible fate that would change them. Ravenclaw said the names, and the first would be stopped, however the last one wouldn't. _Voldemort._"

"Gryffindor and I both knew that something had to be done or generations would suffer oppression and darkness, so we went to work. For the last two years of his life, Gryffindor worked fervently to help fashion something that could change the future, and I believe you are familiar with it," Alphard inclined his head toward her and waited, his eyes resting below her chin.

Hermione felt the cool burning against her flesh and pulled out the time turner Dumbledore had given her.

"Ah, hello, old friend," Alphard called. The chain hummed and the rims of the turner swayed slightly back and forth.

"This? You used this? Did you know that the Ministry began using these to fix mistakes when muggles witnessed magical scenarios?" Hermione seemed surprised that such a simply envisioned device by the Ministry wasn't something that they created at all and once held greater purpose than just to fix common misdemeanors.

"Well, it sounds like they went on to serve their purpose regardless of situation, then. Bottom line: it was to be used to fix mistakes and impending problems and that's what it does."

"So once you and Gryffindor created it, what did you do?"

"Well, I spun it a few times. Of course even though Gryffindor guided me in what I needed to do, it was still a shot in the dark. We didn't know how far into the future Slytherin's dealings would take place, but I got close."

"I arrived in 1979. It was very odd. The pants were the strangest of things, you know, they—"

"Alphard…" Hermione groaned.

"Right. Anyway, I spent a lot of time reading up on past events. I found Grindlewald had been defeated, just as Rowena said, but Voldemort had only just fallen, and like some suspected, I knew he wasn't gone forever. I didn't have much hope in this miracle-Potter kid, either. So I went with what Ravenclaw's final words were."

"What did she say?" Hermione asked, her head tilted in curiosity and confusion.

"_Find her, my only one," _Alphard recited.

"But that doesn't make sense…"

"It does when you think about it literally… and a little figuratively. It was like another foolish riddle I had to solve during my classes with her, but thankfully I had learned enough… and when I saw that a baby female was born in England with the name of 'Hermione' I felt like the divines were showing me the way. I dropped one word and I had my answer: Find her-my-one. It worked quite well considering I hadn't the faintest clue on how to pronounce your name starting out."

Hermione rolled her eyes at revisiting pronunciation issues of her name. Alphard continued.

"When I found you at a muggle hospital, it was the most unusual thing. For some reason, I had assumed you to be of great lineage to combat Slytherin's successor, but you were just a muggleborn child—and a whiny thing at that," Alphard winced as though he could imagine her crying and Hermione scrunched her nose in disapproval. "I wanted to even the playing fields, so using a theoretical spell I had once read about, I took a drop of my blood and said the incantation over your crib side at the hospital late one night. By doing so I instilled part of myself in you, but being a dark spell, it had its repercussions."

"For you as well?" Hermione was slightly afraid at what height it had cost him.

"I could never have children of my own. Of course I didn't find that out immediately, but in the future it was the only evident reason to be found, but I never told my wife about it."

"I'm sorry, Alphard. I didn't mean—"

"It was my choice, Hermione. I don't need pity. I've done what I needed to do, now all I ask is that you stop Voldemort."

"You said you wrote the prophecy that Albus Dumbledore had read to me," Hermione stated, changing the subject.

"That I did. I wrote it and spoke it into one of the crystal balls that contain prophecies and placed in the Hall at the ministry. Time would take care of the rest I had hoped, and I was right," Alphard said proudly and seemed to heave a sigh as though he were still surprised that it actually worked. "I created the prophecy so that you would be placed in a crucial time—one which contains both successors—so that you may aid in the downfall of both. It truly can't be done without you, Hermione. It is a great burden to bear, but I wouldn't have instilled my faith any place where I felt there wasn't purpose or hope. It was destiny, Hermione, of that I am sure," Alphard looked at her almost desperately. Whether he was hoping for her not to abandon her mission now that the truth was out or because he wanted her to understand how strongly he felt on the situation, she couldn't tell, but she felt that of which he had spoken of: purpose.

"So what do I do?"

"I wish I could tell you, my dear, but I don't know. I feel lucky to have even gotten us this far," Alphard admitted. After several moments of thoughtful silence, he spoke once more.

"Just remember, not all things are born evil or are meant to suffer a doomed life, Hermione. Never be beyond forgiveness, especially in forgiving oneself and accepting fate as it comes to pass. I wasn't alone, Hermione, and you aren't either, I promise," Alphard avowed. Then his portrait froze back into the same windswept hair and wild-eyed look.

Hermione sat quietly in the passageway for quite some time, lost in thought and assessing what he had just told her. Fates and Divines were things Hermione had always thought to be excuses to reason away the bad things and give purpose to the good—never serving as anything but false hope and justice on either end. To think that something—or someone—was out there, watching over her unsettled her a bit. The fact that anything could have certain expectations for the outcome other than Alphard Corvus and Dumbledore made her uncomfortable. She knew that she had a big task before her, but to think that she could fail some omnipotent being made her more nervous.

However, Alphard stated that she wasn't alone as though it was a good thing. Maybe it was in some sense, but Hermione had yet to feel that 'presence' guiding her or even offering a leg up in her situation. She wasn't dead at least, perhaps she could accredit it that to the Fate supposedly guiding her.

Alphard also had made it a point to tell her that evil wasn't what it seemed, nor was it beyond forgiveness. It was odd to hear coming from a man who seemed that he still had yet to forgive his parents, not to mention the Bloody Baron, for what happened in his past. She felt it to be slightly hypocritical on his end, but upon focusing on the words alone, she couldn't help but envision Riddle as a young boy: powerful and with purpose, but alone, scared, confused. He was once a child too. Contrary to her own feelings, Hermione knew him to be just as human as she—even if he acted as though he had a god complex sometimes.

Dumbledore had told Hermione in her own time that he had faith in her abilities to stop him, but it was clear he wished for her not to kill him. Could she change Tom Marvolo Riddle? Could she steer him from going down a path he was long-since destined for? Could she make him see humanity? Could she make him _human?_

Saying a silent prayer to whatever deity watched from above, she stepped out of the passageway to start her day off with a much needed rest. If Hermione was going to accomplish stopping Grindlewald and helping Tom Riddle become humane, she definitely would need some divine intervention.


	19. Many Meetings: Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Halloween Ball committee meets. Hogsmeade weekend brings together new and old friends. Riddle asks Hermione to take a walk with him into the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW. I am so happy with the response I got in the last chapter! SO happy, in fact, that I decided to take the time to post a chapter tonight. Your collective reviews had me feeling warm and fuzzy, but also literally laughing out loud from Alphard's new nicknames (I stan ghost daddy). This last chapter was definitely a challenge to write with trying to do a big reveal with plenty of clarity. I am happy to see that it appears to went over well! Thank you all from the bottom of my dark heart. <3
> 
> The next two chapters are also among my favorites (I think I just have a thing for Hogsmeade weekends...), so I hope you all will enjoy them!
> 
> Side note: When I wrote this, I was not aware of Little Hangleton's location, so I had placed it quite near Hogsmeade. I considered adjusting it and making the correction for this chapter, but because it isn't imperative to the storyline, I decided to leave it as a fun "oops." Just know that this is a slight error that will not impact the future narrative and that I am sorry for doing so! If I can think of a way to alter it and still keep the ending strong, I will do so in the future, but for now--it is what it is. Happy reading!
> 
> **Not all Pottermore, Fantastic Beasts, and Cursed Child content is included in this story--this is AU, please be aware.**

Hermione made a mad dash down the stairs of Hogwarts, attempting to fold her scarf neatly around her neck that was being jostled about with each stair step cleared. She had on a light jacket made of scratchy material and her wand tucked in her skirt pocket. After descending the many steps, she finally made it to the foyer and out of the castle's large doors.

Stepping outside, Hermione was met with a crisp nip in the air, wind rustling dried orange and red leaves, and the sun high in the sky marking midday. She closed her eyes momentarily and let the warmth of the sun dance across her cheeks.

"Hermione!" A voice called to her faintly from a distance and she could see an arm waving in the air, beckoning to her from the trail that led to Hogsmeade.

The students of Hogwarts were on their way to Hogsmeade to enjoy a Saturday away, and most importantly, to go shopping for the impending Halloween Ball that was only a week away. The halls had been abuzz for weeks with speculation of the event's theme, until the committee revealed their grandiose plans the previous day. Hermione had yet to learn of the theme; she had skipped out on social interaction more than she thought she had been.

Hermione jogged toward the waving figure. With no bag to weigh her down, she was able to run freely. She felt somewhat guilty for leaving Nyoka behind in the castle and not bringing her along to enjoy getting away for a while—especially with winter drawing near—but considering last visit's fatal incident and how shaken she still felt, Hermione thought it best.

Nyoka had begged for Hermione to take her along, but when she told the snake why she couldn't allow it and finally confessed the inn keeper's death, Nyoka didn't seem too shaken by it. That had left Hermione unsettled immensely, but she made the serpent vow to never attack without her permission again. Nyoka agreed, but had felt as though her master was ungrateful for protecting her and took off into the shrinking crack in the wall due to her growth in size, mumbling about humans being fools. Hermione wasn't concerned, she knew the snake would come around.

Hermione finally caught up with the other students, her face flushed pink from the cold and her jogging. The students were exceptionally lively, bustling around and talking excitedly.

"I only have one week to get a date! Who do you suppose I should take?" A girl pouted loudly.

"How about Cristin Tamsin?" Another girl replied.

"Hm… I was thinking more along the lines of Tom Riddle, actually," the sleek-haired Slytherin girl decided.

Hermione's ears perked up. She could've cared less about the girl's endeavors to pull in Riddle for a date. In fact, she wished her luck: she would need it. Hermione doubted Tom would even take part in the event.

"Hermione, Hermione, over here!" Hermione smiled, she could pick out Aviela's voice anywhere. She walked in the direction of the voice.

Aviela walked with Christopher, Minerva, and to her pleasant surprise, Hagrid.

"Sorry it took so long," Hermione announced upon entering the line in which the group walked.

"What kept you?" Aviela asked.

"Studying, the usual," Hermione lied. There was no way she was going to explain to them how she had an argument with her pet snake over not allowing her to attend a school organized field trip.

"We've been discussing what we're going to do for our costumes for the ball! What are you going to do, Hermione?" Minerva questioned.

"Actually, I don't know what the theme is yet," Hermione admitted.

"Wow. When you study you really are absorbed in it, aren't you? Figured you would've heard something by now what with all the chatter about it," Christopher commented as he repeatedly kicked a rock in front of him as he walked.

"The theme is… An animal masquerade!" Aviela announced, adding a pause for flair and to build up excitement.

"An animal masquerade?" Hermione inquired.

"Um-hmm. It's going to be great. Everyone dresses up really fancy, but to hide our identities, we all wear decorated animal masks!" Aviela nearly jumped up and down in excitement.

"Sounds unique, indeed," Hermione commented. Something about the idea seemed familiar to her, but she couldn't recall why.

"Before ye came, we were just decidin' what animals we would all be," Hagrid added.

"Is that so? Have you all decided?" Hermione asked.

"Mostly, but we some of us are still on the fence about it. Galadres Dresses will be selling themed, premade masks and supplies… but there are other shops that will be selling them too!" Aviela quickly added, a tinge of guilt tinting her cheeks pink at remembering the incident that happened at Galadres' last Hogsmeade visit. Hermione didn't penalize her friends for not knowing of her financial situation when walking into the high-end wizard and witch clothing store, but she didn't wish to revisit it either.

"Sounds fantastic," Hermione smiled, pretending not to notice the slip up, "so what are the animals you all have chosen?"

"I am going to be an adorable, white mouse. Not a disgusting rat or anything—it'll be cute, I promise!" Aviela quickly defended her idea.

"No, no, I absolutely understand what you are saying. I am sure it'll be lovely," Hermione insisted.

"I've decided to be a cat. A gray tabby, in fact," Minerva said confidently. Hermione smiled widely in recognizing the description of the Gryffindor's future animagus form.

"I can see it completely," Hermione commented. "What about you, Hagrid?"

"I haven't decided quite what I want to do yet, but yer welcome to give me some ideas," Hagrid scratched the back of his head with a large hand. After a moment of intense thought, Aviela brightened and spoke.

"Hm… What about a bear?" she exclaimed.

"A bear, huh? Ye know, I kind o' like it," Hagrid smiled.

"Well, I am still undecided, and _no,_ I _won't_ tell you my ideas, Aviela," Christopher yawned, appearing to be exhausted from lack of sleep due to the bags under his eyes.

"But what if somebody steals your idea?" Aviela seemed borderline desperate to save her twin brother from a fashion faux pas upon possibly showing up to a formal event in the same garb as another.

"Then I am sure you can live with _not_ being my twin for the night," Christopher retorted as Aviela groaned.

"So what about you, Hermione? Any ideas on what you will be?" Minerva asked.

"Not the slightest clue," Hermione shrugged. While everyone was frivolously enthralled by the event, she had other concerns on her mind that were more imperative.

"Well, we'll be on the lookout for something fabulous and totally you," Aviela affirmed.

By the time their conversations about the ball had drawn to a close, they had reached the outskirts of Hogsmeade. Students dashed in various directions, some to the Three Broomsticks, some to miscellaneous supply shops, but the majority of students raced for the clothing stores to secure the best masks and materials possible—Aviela among them, pulling Minerva in her wake. When Hermione didn't follow, Aviela quickly stopped.

"Oh, come on, Hermione! The best things will be taken if we don't get a head start," Aviela groaned. Minerva quirked an eyebrow in slight pleading for her to join them.

"There a few things I wanted to take care of before I began searching, I'll catch up in a bit, promise," Hermione assured them.

"Suit yourself," Aviela said as she grabbed Minerva and dashed off into the cobblestoned streets, leaves catching the wind around them as they left.

"Do you really have stuff to do?" Christopher asked, skeptical.

"Not in the slightest," Hermione said blatantly.

Christopher chuckled and Hagrid guffawed.

"Grab a bite at the Broomsticks?" Christopher more commented than asked.

"Sure," Hermione chuckled.

"Well, let's get goin'. I'm starvin'," Hagrid bellowed as he held up an arm. Hermione took it graciously and allowed the pair to lead her to the Inn. They laughed together as Christopher told a story about what had transpired between Aviela and the tough-nailed Hufflepuff when they disagreed on the decorations. He exclaimed that he had never seen a Hufflepuff with a look of wanting to hex someone so badly before.

Hermione let go of Hagrid's arm as she entered the doorway to the Inn behind Christopher, the warmth and sweet smells engulfing her once again. Hagrid ducked low, but still managed to bump his head on the beam, letting out a muffled "ouch." Some students milled about or sat drinking butterbeer and laughing, including a group of Slytherins.

They crossed the dining room, passed the table of Slytherins to a large, round table in the form of a booth in the corner near a window. Each time they passed a set of table and chairs and their occupants, Hagrid let out a low, "excuse me, sorry there."

After being comfortably seated, the trio picked up their menus from a wired rack on the table to make their choices. Hermione's eyes immediately drifted to the desserts, falling upon the pumpkin spice bread. Her mouth watered and her stomach rumbled slightly despite having a hearty breakfast at Hogwarts. She yearned to order the dessert, but she thought it would be best to forgo the delicacy; she would hate to ask for Aviela to help fund her costume for the ball because she splurged on food at the Inn—even though she knew the petite blond wouldn't mind. _There will be more opportunities for pumpkin bread._

She peered over at Hagrid who seemed to be having the same dilemma. She would almost readily give up her funds just to make the half-giant boy smile. Things had gotten better for him since Hermione stood up for him, but she could still see the far off look in his eyes when he was alone or in thought. It was the same look Harry had when he would think of his parents, the same look she had found herself making when glancing at her reflection in the windows of the castle: the look of an orphan. Although her parents were out there waiting for her to come home for the holidays, unknowing of what fate destiny had woven for her, in this time, they were just as dead to her as Harry's parents were to him. As for Hagrid's parents, whether it was a case of abandonment, death, or both, Hermione could see the lines etched into his young face when left alone to his thoughts.

However, she found herself blessed that she at least was able to know her parents, grow with them, and still have a chance to find them once again; Harry nor Hagrid would ever have that chance.

"So what can I get you?" the voice of a waitress chimed, pulling Hermione from her morbid thoughts.

"A lemon pastry puff and a spiced hot chocolate," Christopher told the blond woman as he placed his menu back in the wired rack on the table.

"Er… I'll have a water…" Hagrid said sheepishly, never being one to be very discreet about his personal situations even when trying.

"What he means is he'll have a hot chocolate and a slice of blueberry cake," Christopher affirmed the waitress while Hagrid looked on, slightly embarrassed, but thankful nonetheless.

"And what about you, love?" the waitress asked while jotting down the previous order.

"Just a cup of hot tea is all, thank you," Hermione said confidently, trying to assure Christopher of her order so that he didn't order over top of her.

"Alright, I'll be back in a jiffy," the waitress said as she headed back to the kitchens. After she left, Christopher, who sat across from her in the round booth, turned to her.

"Are you positive that is all you wanted? I can get you—"

"I am sure. I had a big breakfast this morning at the castle, but thank you, Christopher," Hermione smiled to him in appreciation. He didn't seem content with her answer, but he let her be.

Hermione turned to allow her eyes to scan the patrons of the Inn. As usual, a group of men from nearby villages sat talking and laughing loudly, sharing pints of ale. Students talked over half eaten scones and cocoa. The Inn was just as lively as before, despite the death of the old keeper. In fact, it seemed _livelier_. She hated the idea that the death of the previous owner may have been a positive thing for the place. The thought that a series of small decisions had brought forth such a terrible outcome, and then some good along with it did not sit well with her. Although she could argue that it was defense or not _truly_ her fault, she still laid claim to Nyoka and the blame would rest on her shoulders just as the guilt had.

Hermione's eyes locked with a pair of dark ones from across the room. Tom Riddle sat among the Slytherins and appeared to have already been looking at her. The Slytherins around the table, including Abraxas and Hadrian, chatted animatedly as they ate. Arnold, the robust Slytherin, sat with them, but seemed much tamer than he had been on the last visit.

She held Riddle's gaze as he sat, straight-backed in his chair, hands resting on the table, fingers drumming. He seemed to almost be challenging her, not blinking once. _A staring contest?_ Well, she wasn't playing. She saw his exterior, a dastardly evil heir, plotting against muggleborns and mudbloods alike to purge the world in the name of Salazar, in the name of the _greater_ _good. _A manipulator, a conman, a dark messiah—everything he was, and yet, _wasn't._

_It's not his fault. It's not his fault. It's not his fault. _Hermione kept repeating the mantra to herself as she felt her blood run slightly cold upon looking into the face of deadly perfection.

_It's not his fault._

After staring for what felt like an eternity, Hermione's eyes softened at the thought of the burdens they both carried. To others, it might've appeared to be a look of sympathy, and perhaps it was. Hermione blinked a few times before taking a deep breath through her nostrils and offering him a half-hearted smile. Riddle didn't return the smile, but instead, quirked his head slightly with a raise eyebrow.

Abraxas, who sat to Riddle's right, took notice of the direction of which his closest mate was staring. When he saw Hermione, he quickly threw up a hand and a large smile, flashing his brilliant white teeth in greeting. Hermione smiled and waved back. Abraxas' eyes fell on Christopher for a moment and the Malfoy heir inclined his head slightly, Christopher did so stiffly, to the point that had Hermione not been observant, the odd formal greeting between the two would have gone unnoticed.

Their view was quickly blocked as the waitress returned with a tray in hand.

"Here we go, loves. A lemon puff pastry and spiced hot chocolate, blueberry cake and hot chocolate, and a tea for you, dear. Let me know if you need anything else!" The waitress left as quickly as she had arrived.

Hagrid dove into his cake and began sipping his cocoa fervently. One would think he was starved had they not known of his appetite. Christopher attempted to neatly eat his pastry, but an unusually shaky hand led him to drop a piece of the dessert into his spiced cocoa clumsily. He fished it out nonchalantly and continued eating. Hermione began sipping her tea patiently, savoring it, but knowing that before long she would probably be hungry.

The trio sat in comfortable silence as they enjoyed their small meals. Hermione rested her elbows on the table and the held the cup of tea, cradled in her sleeved hands to protect her from the hot glass, and let the steam warm her face. She sighed, smelling the herbal drink. She remembered having afternoon tea with her mother and placing their cups—tea bags and all—into the sink, forgoing them to walk the streets of London and look for quirky items in shops to decorate their home with. It was something they did together mostly on rainy days when her father was away spending time with colleagues. On the days that her mother visited with friends, her father would spoil her with an evening out for ice cream.

"Here you go, darling, enjoy," a different waitress than the one they had previously said as she placed a plate with a slice of pumpkin bread covered in powdered sugar in front of her.

"Pardon me, but I am sorry, I didn't order anything else," Hermione spoke up and gestured to the tea in her hand as the waitress turned to leave.

"Don't worry, it's already been covered," the waitress said with a flick of her wrist before bustling off. Hermione looked after her confusedly.

"Hey 'Ermione, looks like someone's thinkin' 'bout ye," Hagrid said through a mouthful of cake.

"I guess so," Hermione shrugged as Christopher ignored the situation and kept eating.

Hermione took the shiny fork that rested on the plate and took a bite. As the bread melted in her mouth, she sighed. _Not having a dress for the ball would have totally been worth getting this._

After they had finished and paid for their meals accordingly, Hagrid, Christopher, and Hermione left to find Aviela. The air seemed to have grown colder. Whether it was because they had been spoiled by the warmth inside the Inn or because the temperature had truly dropped, she didn't know, but regardless she wrapped her scarf a little tighter around her neck.

As they deliberated on where they each thought Aviela and Minerva had gone, the group of Slytherins that had been inside previously poured out into the streets. The girl that had been behind her on the walk over to Hogsmeade, who had spoken of asking Riddle to the ball, stood beside him, giggling and twirling a strand of hair playfully. Riddle, however, looked rather bored with it all. The stout girl that had been also been present gaped at Hadrian longingly. Hermione shook her head slightly and turned back to Hagrid and Christopher.

A hand came to rest on Hermione's back, and acting upon instinct, she jumped and her hand twitched toward her wand.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you, Hermione," Abraxas apologized and removed his hand. Hermione found it to be an odd sudden gesture, but ignored it.

"It's alright, Abraxas. How are you?"

"I'm quite fine. Did you enjoy your lunch?" Abraxas asked politely, however she saw through his ruse.

"I take it you were the one that surprised me with one of my favorites, then?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow at him accusingly.

"Maybe, maybe not. All that matters is that you enjoyed it," Abraxas grinned.

"It was delicious, in fact. Thank you, Abraxas."

"You're welcome," Abraxas admitted graciously. "We're going out by the rocks to watch Arnold try the new Pepper Imps from Honeydukes. Apparently it makes you breathe fire. I came over to ask if you would like to join us."

Hermione looked back to Hagrid who looked at her pitifully and Christopher who appeared to be tight lipped.

"It sounds like fun, but we promised Aviela we'd meet up with her right away," Hermione admitted; she would rather go shopping with Aviela than hang out with a large group of Slytherins who detested her presence any day—save for Abraxas. Suddenly Riddle stood beside Abraxas.

"You can join us for a little while, Miss Sivad. We really need to discuss our Potions project for Slughorn. You don't think Aviela would mind her absence do you, Christopher?" Although Riddle had asked Christopher, Hermione felt it was more of a command with little room for discussion. It was odd for Riddle to act such a way to other students openly, but perhaps Hermione just knew his games all too well and found them easily recognizable.

"Not at all. As long as she stays _safe_," Christopher replied. Riddle smirked.

"You have my word." The future Dark Lord closed his eyes and bowed his head momentarily to the fair-haired boy before her.

"Come on, Hagrid. We'll catch up later, Hermione," Christopher said as he quickly turned and began walking. Hagrid seemed confused, but followed the Ravenclaw boy anyway. Abraxas stood silently, face impassive, but the appearance was shed as he turned back to Hermione.

"Alright, let's get going!" the Malfoy heir smiled brightly.

* * *

Hermione sat on the edge of a large rock beside Abraxas. Arnold had eaten the majority of the Pepper Imps in one go, only spewing flames out every few minutes when he belched. At first, it had incited laughter, but the students grew weary of it after the first few times. Hadrian had ran off into the forest with a giggling Hufflepuff girl—which no one had questioned—and left the stout Slytherin girl pouting. Tom Riddle stood leaned against a tree, nonchalantly playing with his wand. The thin, dark-haired girl, whom Hermione had found out was called Millie, stood beside him, asking frivolous questions.

Riddle answered every one of them simply or without much thought, but every time Millie would laugh as though he had told a joke and add in a small anecdote about herself, which would go uncommented upon by Riddle.

Hermione continued to observe the crowd of Slytherins who milled about the rocks chatting and casting minor charms that were allowed within the limits of Hogsmeade. Abraxas lie on his back, whistling a tune beside of her. He seemed so carefree and relaxed, much unlike the Malfoys in her time who were stubborn, shrewd, and bullies. She couldn't understand what went wrong with them.

"So how are you liking Hogwarts so far?" Abraxas spoke as he sat up on his elbows.

"Well, it's much unlike my old school, but I like it a lot better actually. It feels like home," Hermione said, telling her half-truth: the only true part being that it felt like home.

"I would say so. I believe Hogwarts has always been a second home to most of the students," Abraxas said as he rubbed a thumb over his neatly clipped nails. "It can get a little boring sometimes though, you know?"

Boring was the last thing she considered when she thought of Hogwarts. Every year she had attended, a new misadventure or danger awaited for her and her friends to conquer or overcome. As she had grown, she found sitting at home in London in relaxation to be more taxing and boring than anything. She had gotten too accustomed to the thrills the wizarding world had to offer as opposed to the muggle one.

"I can understand how you'd feel," Hermione replied, not necessarily agreeing or disagreeing with his last statement.

"Along with all the homework we have it can get a little stressful as well. It's a good thing we Slytherins can find ways to unwind and have a little fun," Abraxas stated while yawning. "So what do you Ravenclaws do for fun?"

"Well, just the usual: study, play chess, make treks to the library," Hermione listed plainly. In all actuality, she was unsure of what Ravenclaws did in their down time. She was so absorbed in her own personal activities and issues that she never had truly participated in lounging about the common room as she had as a Gryffindor with Harry and Ron.

"I should've known," Abraxas guffawed, "is it really that dull in the towers? We have a lot more fun in the dungeons."

"So what do Slytherins do for fun?" Hermione retorted, feeling slightly prickled by his idea that reading and studying were mundane activities.

Abraxas smiled deviously.

"We have our _own_ parties of course," Abraxas grinned.

"Parties? Don't you all ever get caught?" Hermione asked, skeptical.

Abraxas looked over at Riddle who seemed slightly agitated by Millie's presence before turning back to her.

"Nope."

Looking in Riddle's direction, Hermione mentally smacked herself for her stupidity. Of _course_ they didn't get in trouble, the prefect and golden boy of Hogwarts made sure of that. He could smooth talk his way out of almost any situation to any professor and would get off with no less than a pat on the back and an award for his hard work in hand—so long as he steered clear of Albus Dumbledore, the only one who saw through his façade.

"Well, that's quite some luck you have, then," Hermione commented, unsure of what to say.

"You should come to the next one. They are always fun," Abraxas commented.

"I am not so sure that's a good idea. I've never been to any party other than Slughorn's and my own during birthdays. Besides, I would be caught anyway," Hermione babbled. She had never been to a _true_ party, but if they were anything like the ones held in her time, she wasn't so sure she would fit in or would want to.

"Nonsense. Tom can personally escort you there. You could use a little fun. Being in that tower is going to make you too light headed, anyway," Abraxas joked as he pointed to her forehead with his index finger. Hermione laughed and swatted it away.

"I _may_ attend, but studying comes first," Hermione settled, not making any promises.

"Ravenclaws," Abraxas groaned. Hermione then watched as Riddle pushed himself off the tree and walked away with Millie in mid-conversation, paying her no mind as her mouth dropped in shock. He stopped in front of the two sitting on the large rock.

"Would you like to go for a walk, Miss Sivad?" Riddle stood before her, palm extended to her. Hermione looked at his hand warily, but accepted the gesture nonetheless. Taking his hand, she allowed him to help her off the rock she sat upon. When her hand touched his, a jolt of electricity flowed from his touch. Hermione nearly thought he was hexing her wandlessly, but when the odd sensation was quickly replaced by the warmth of his hand, she shoved the thoughts away the best she could. No matter what she had learned of him because of what Alphard had told her, she still couldn't rid herself of the horrible memories Riddle had given her in her own time.

With a surprisingly light touch, Riddle finished helping her and led the way into the forest, smiling deviously. Hermione then took note of Millie who stood off by the tree Riddle had been at previously, fuming at the interaction between the two. Hermione's expression immediately grew sour at his "nice" gesture; she was quite positive he had only done it to get Millie off his back. Abraxas sat on the rock looking on in frustration at their retreating forms.

Hermione finally caught up with Riddle who had gained more distance than she thought possible. She had to take a moment to catch her breath as she examined him. He walked with his hands clasped behind his back, face blank; par usual of him.

"He was going to ask you to the masquerade," Riddle stated.

"What?"

"Abraxas. He was about to ask you to attend the Halloween masquerade with him," Riddle repeated.

"You don't know that," Hermione retorted.

"Don't I?" Riddle looked at her inquisitively. _Is he suggesting that he read Abraxas' mind? Are his subjects so loyal that they surrender their thoughts completely already?_ Hermione wasn't so sure, but the idea that this could be true left her slightly shaken.

"Well, Millie was going to ask you to the ball," Hermione brought forth.

"And how is it that you know this?"

"She said so herself on the way over to Hogsmeade. She wasn't very discreet about it, either," Hermione divulged.

"I see," Riddle said simply.

Hermione stepped over a large branch, but her foot caught over the last step and she stumbled. Riddle withdrew a hand from behind his back and grabbed her by the elbow with instinctive reflexes, steadying her easily. Then Riddle withdrew his hand, almost like he had been stung, and clasped it together with other behind him once again.

"Thanks," Hermione forced out.

Riddle said nothing. After a few minutes of silence, Hermione continued the conversation.

"It wasn't like it mattered, anyway. You aren't attending the ball," Hermione alleged.

"Is that so? I didn't know that you dictated when and where I went, Miss Sivad," Riddle retorted. Hermione swallowed hard.

"I assumed—"

"That's obvious," Riddle interjected as he ducked below a branch in the forested area.

"I assumed you would rather not partake in such frivolities. I assumed you would have better things to do," Hermione shrugged.

"Oh? Such as?" Riddle rounded on her, waiting for an answer.

"Whatever it is that you do when not in the dining hall, or in class, or working on our project with me," Hermione said calmly, but challenging him at the same time.

Riddle stared at her long enough just to make her uneasy, then allowed the corner of his lip to quirk upward at her in a small smirk before turning back around and continuing walking.

"You're right. I didn't want to attend. Not in the very least. In fact, I thought it a foolish notion that someone would even have the _audacity_ to think that I would."

At this point, Hermione couldn't tell if he was being serious or sarcastic and let out a frustrated sigh.

"But you could, if you wanted to," Hermione commented, trying to ease the tension.

"_If_ I wanted to," Riddled repeated uncaringly and stopped abruptly, peering out of the clearing before them at a village in the distance.

From what Hermione could tell, the village was of decent size and a church steeple disturbed the skyline of roofs that flowed like a small sea of waves. Surrounding the town were any number of small farming communities with fields ripe for harvest—mainly with corn and pumpkins.

"So what is that place?" Hermione asked, but a foreboding feeling in the pit of her stomach told her that she already knew.

"A town called Little Hangleton," Riddle spoke, confirming her worst fears.

She had just helped him scout out the location of his father whom he would murder that following year, creating his second horcrux. _His second…_ Hermione swallowed hard.

_Not if I can help it._


	20. Many Meetings: Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Riddle return from their walk. A scuffle ensues upon their return. Hermione gets a dress for the Halloween Ball.
> 
> Dedicated to my grandmother, Sue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is coming in a little late today. I have been sick (and asleep) for most of the day. I will be using my night owl time to get some writing done.
> 
> Also, THANK YOU each for your comments, kudos, subscriptions, and views! Between Fanfiction.net and AO3, I have officially broken the 100,000 views total across the board. I am so happy I could cry. I am glad to know that I have made others happy with my writing. I hope the future chapters bring you all just as much joy/entertainment. I will try to post another two chapters before the weekend is up.
> 
> Since I thought you all might be interested, my profile page now contains links to my Tumblr account if you wish to follow me there for additional content and digital art!
> 
> Thanks for all the support! I hope you all enjoy this chapter.
> 
> (Note: dedicated to my late grandmother who passed away shortly before this chapter was written and originally published.)
> 
> **Not all Pottermore, Fantastic Beasts, and Cursed Child content is included in this story--this is AU, please be aware.**

Riddle observed the town for a few moments, face impassive and arms crossed. Hermione had begun to learn the impassiveness his face held often signaled that the heir of Slytherin was in deep thought or calculating. She tried not to study him too hard, lest he began asking questions about her own thoughts. After a few moments of playing with the fringes on her scarf, she turned and began walking back to the rocks, leaving Riddle to himself.

"So who are you truly, Miss Sivad? There's no need to keep lying," Riddle said simply, leaning against a tree, still looking at the small town nestled between rolling hills.

"Excuse me?" Hermione asked as she turned on the spot to look back at him, feigning ignorance. "What are you talking about?"

"You say that you attended Beauxbatons until your fifth year, yet you are not French. You also claim that your family was wealthy and your funds ran dry, but your clothing and material things are clearly secondhand and do not reflect a lifestyle of wealth. If your father's home foreclosed, what became of the effects inside? Heirlooms, trinkets, furniture, are they still yours? Or—as I suspect—did they never exist at all?" Riddle inquired as he paced back and forth, his eyes steady on her, like a predator stalking his prey.

"Have you never heard of the floo network? We lived near London and I had special permission to use floo powder to enter and leave the school through our headmistress' fire place. As for my clothing, I had to sell most of my expensive pieces when money became low, and besides, I was never one for extravagance anyway. I am not sure what happened to the things inside. I would hope they were stored away for me, but I wouldn't count on it; my father made shady dealings and I wouldn't doubt that after his death others came to "claim" what he had." Hermione lied expertly, her arms crossed and face scrunched slightly.

Riddle pondered her answers momentarily, but by the look on his face, it was evident he didn't believe her for a second. She gnawed at the inside of her bottom lip in nervousness.

"And you never once thought to inquire about what was rightfully yours with those things being the only memories you have of your parents? Highly illogical," he stated plainly as he continued to pick her apart, piece by piece. He looked at her, eyebrows raised, waiting for a response. Hermione swallowed heavily.

"The memories I have of them aren't limited to material things," Hermione replied curtly.

"Are they not? Then what is connected to the chain that you always have around your neck, tucked away?" Riddle questioned. "You're front is wearing thin, Miss Sivad." He held a slight musical tone to his voice in his efforts to taunt her. It was working.

"And what about you, _Tom_, are you really what they say _you _are?" Hermione spat. He stepped closer and peered down upon her.

He was still much taller than her, but without the cloak he was usually hidden under at Hogwarts he seemed a lot less monstrous. He had broad shoulders and stood with perfect posture. The impeccably clean vest which harbored a Slytherin crest and the button-up combination he wore was well-fitted and showed off his lean, but firm physique. He was always well put together, but she couldn't help but notice a small fraying near the bottom of the vest. His clothes were spotless, but to a keen eye it was clear that they were well worn-in. Come to think of it, she had never seen him in anything _other_ than school-issued clothing.

"And what is it that _they_ say I am?" Riddle's mouth was curved downward, his eyes dangerous and boring into her. Hermione quickly brought herself back to reality and tried to stand straight-backed and fearless, but her mouth became dry.. What was she going to say? That some believe he is their lord and ruler, and others a fiendish Slytherin who could speak to basilisks and is capable of killing? These truths had yet to even surface, let alone hold water. She formed together the best answer she could.

"That you are Slytherin's figurehead and you hold more influence than most think," Hermione admitted. It was a lesser confession, a minute observation, but a lie wouldn't work here. Riddle continued to stare down at her before cocking his head to the side.

"And what is the extent of the influence that you believe I hold?" Riddle asked, seeming very intent on her answer. Hermione waited for a moment, looking into his yes for as long as she could before casting her glance sideways and off into the forest, unable to hold his gaze.

"I am not quite sure yet," Hermione admitted. It was true that she knew of what he would become, but not of what he was currently or where he stood in affluence.

"I believe that is the most honesty you've given thus far. Let me ask you this, do your little friends know that you are a fraud?" Riddle asked rather harshly.

"Do your friends know that you are?" Hermione countered, her lips thin. Riddle studied her for a moment before smirking, letting out a curt laugh, then turning around to continue walking back. Hermione let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. That was close—_too _close. Even though it was clear Riddle didn't believe her, it was a good thing she was able to shake him off, at least for now.

They walked in an uneasy silence—or at least for Hermione—until they heard faint voices carrying throughout the trees, signaling they were close to the rocks once more.

"What will your answer be?" Riddle broke the silence.

"To what?" Hermione asked as she carefully ducked under a low branch.

"Abraxas. He will ask you to the masquerade. What will you tell him?" Riddle asked as he trekked up the hill, not appearing to be winded in the slightest. Hermione, on the other hand, had to steady her breathing from the intense hike.

"Does it matter?" She responded.

"Yes," Riddle said plainly, but by the look on his face, there was a reasoning behind it that was unknown to her.

"Why does it matter, then?" Hermione inquired, but she was only met with silence.

"What will you tell him?" Riddle asked once again.

"I'll tell him what I may, and you'll just have to wait and see for yourself," Hermione replied curtly. "Why does it matter to you anyway?"

"It doesn't," Riddle responded. The tone of which he held when he spoke sent chills down her spine. She felt as though there was something lying underneath his words, holding an imperativeness that she would only understand with time.

Suddenly they heard voices carrying over wind in the form of arguing and shouting. Hermione's brows furrowed as she looked back at Riddle, who seemed far less concerned than she. Hermione began racing up the hillside, trudging through thick piles of fallen leaves, with a feeling of dread gripping her chest.

Finally the barren trees and bramble cleared as she arrived back at the rocks. Immediately she saw two Slytherin boys—one being Hadrian Black—holding back Abraxas who was thrashing about wildly, the corner of his mouth slightly bloodied. Opposite of Abraxas stood Christopher. The Goldstein twin was alone and harboring his own injury in the form of a bloody nose. Hermione's mouth dropped open in shock and she withdrew her wand quickly from the pocket of her skirt.

"What's going on here?" Hermione demanded of them. The other Slytherins that had once been present were no longer among the group.

"Why don't you ask _him,_" Hadrian spat in Christopher's direction as he continued to hold back Abraxas who was slowing his thrashings.

"Christopher, what happened?" Hermione asked, holding her wand in hand down by her side, ready to act on a moment's notice if necessary.

"It's fine, Hermione. Don't bother getting involved. It's nothing," Christopher said thin-lipped.

"_Fine?_ What do you mean by _fine? _Both of you are bleeding!" Hermione shouted.

"Everything was fine until _he_ began eavesdropping and snooping around with the intent of causing trouble," Abraxas said as he spat blood onto the ground. Seeming to have calmed for the most part, Hadrian and the other Slytherin boy let go of him.

"Christopher isn't a troublemaker, Abraxas. It's just a misunderstanding, right, Christopher?" Hermione turned to him, hoping to shed light on the situation.

"No, Abraxas is correct mostly. I was looking for you, and in the process of my searching, I overheard Malfoy and Black discussing some things I found to be less than savory, although I meant no harm," Christopher spoke, casting a cold glare in the direction of Abraxas and Hadrian.

"Gossip isn't worth causing unnecessary feuds, Chris," Hermione chided.

"So you're siding with him then?" Christopher retorted.

"I am not siding with anybody!" Hermione replied in frustration.

"It's time to grow up, Goldstein. Your better half can't be your keeper forever," Abraxas interjected.

"Well, if that's the case then I am sure Hermione would love to know what it was that you and Hadrian were discussing," he said lowly. Hermione turned to Abraxas and Hadrian.

"What was it that you two were discussing?" she asked, crossing her arms and standing up straighter, waiting for an answer to the tomfoolery that had caused the ordeal.

"Something that wasn't any of Goldstein's business," Hadrian said as he shot Christopher a glare.

"They were discussing your arse, naturally," Christopher revealed. "You would think someone as astute as Malfoy would hold someone like you in higher regards than a simple fancy in passing. I expected as much of Black, however."

Abraxas' face contorted into something foul as Hadrian frowned heavily at the Ravenclaw boy. Hermione's mouth was agape at the audacity of such a statement. Not even in her time had such blatant words been spoken, or desired for one to hear. She cared very little about what opinions Abraxas held about her backside, but despite it making her feel slightly self-conscious she found herself more frustrated at Christopher for speaking the words aloud and singling her out.

"Are you really going to believe him, Hermione?" Abraxas asked, almost pleading. The four boys stood, staring at Hermione, waiting.

"I don't care what the truth is and what isn't. Christopher, it is not your job to be my retriever, I was on my way back, in fact, and nor is it your place to listen in on someone's conversations. As for you, Abraxas, I expect more of a gentleman and would hope that you will come to treat all women with the same standards of respect and honor as they would ask of you," Hermione said, feeling like a chastising parent rather than a friend among peers. Not only did she feel like a shiny trinket, drawing unnecessary attention, but she felt uncomfortable and embarrassed at having to address such a situation. She knew how boys could be, and she was fine with allowing their personal opinions to be left in the shadows, but having to face a disagreement on the terms of her backside was not only unsavory, but disappointing as well—especially coming from two people she held in high regard.

The boys stood quietly, glancing back and forth at each other.

"And clean yourselves up, you're both a mess," Hermione said awkwardly as she left to go find Aviela.

As Hermione left, Riddle entered the clearing through the trees and looked from Abraxas to Christopher, observing what he had already heard both by word of mouth and through legilimency.

"Abraxas, do as she said and clean yourself up," Riddle said coldly to the Malfoy heir before turning to Christopher with a shrewd glare. "And _you,_ if you're going to be part of the Knights, you better decide whose side you're on, lest I have to make that decision for you. We speak no more of this. Go."

Christopher nodded stiffly and left the rocks in the opposite direction of Abraxas, Hadrian, and the other Slytherin boy. Riddle stood alone for a moment, pondering. The Sivad girl was more trouble than what she was worth—unless Abraxas was correct. If he was, then she could serve as a promising asset to their endeavors, if not, then she would have to be dealt with—_permanently_.

* * *

Hermione walked back into the streets of Hogsmeade. The momentary solitude was a breath of fresh air to her. From Riddle's oppressive nature to needless embarrassment, it was a welcoming feeling to be along to herself. The streets had less foot-traffic than at midday, but as the sun sank ever lower, more and more students begun drifting back to the castle, bellies full of sweets and arms toting bags of various goodies and clothing items for the masquerade.

Hermione saw Minerva and Aviela standing outside a shop looking rather exhausted. Hermione waved and caught Minerva's eye who, in response, quickly turned and tapped Aviela on the shoulder and pointed in her direction. Aviela rolled her eyes and let out a sigh as the pair jogged toward Hermione.

"Where have you been? The shops have nearly been picked clean," Aviela lamented.

"Sorry, I took a walk in the forest for a bit and became sidetracked. Did you two find your costumes?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, we managed, though Aviela nearly choked someone over a spool of lace to decorate with," Minerva laughed exasperatedly.

"I did not! But had I done so, she would have deserved it…" Aviela pouted. "Right! We need to find you a costume, Hermione."

"Curfew for students is only an hour and a half away, so we better hurry," Minerva commented.

"Right, let's go," Hermione said as she followed the two girls into the shop that they had stood beside previously.

Upon walking in it was clear that the shop was not nearly as nice as Galadres' and more of a thrift store than anything. She couldn't blame the two girls for picking such a store; with her budget it would have to suffice. Hermione made eye contact with the elderly clerk standing behind the wooden counter and smiled. The woman had her hair up in a loose bun and a floral dress with a cloth apron tied around her lumpy waist. She had an open book resting on the counter and a moving picture of a lovely, freckled girl hanging on the wall behind her. The woman smiled at them warmly. Aviela led the way to the numerous racks of dresses off into the far left corner of the musty-smelling store.

The girls began picking through the pieces thoroughly. Hermione shuffled through the hanging clothes apathetically; none of the dresses appeared to be formal on her end. Aviela had a few tossed over her arm and Minerva added one to the pile.

"Well, you could at least try them on, right?" Aviela tugged on Hermione's hand and pulled her toward the dressing room near the back. She shoved the dresses into Hermione's arms and stood waiting.

"You want me to model them for you?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Well, of course! If I don't see you in them how can I fix up the dress you choose and help you with your mask for the ball? Now go on," Aviela urged her while Minerva continued to pick through the racks.

"If you say so," Hermione huffed as she stepped in and pulled the heavy curtain to the dressing room together.

Hermione cycled through each dress available and then some, ranging from puffy-sleeved and too-tight bodice, to cap-sleeved and bell shaped. None of the dresses seemed to reflect her own personal tastes, neither were their awkward styles reparable by basic charms and sewing, according to Aviela. Hermione knew that there was a seamstress in Hogsmeade who custom made dresses, but even if she could afford the woman's services, she doubted her calendar would be free with the masquerade only a week away.

"Alright, one last dress," Minerva said as she brought one over and slid it to Hermione through the curtain. Hermione pulled it on. The material was itchy and the diamond pattern looked awkward, creating the visage of a deck of cards on her torso. Hermione stepped out, instantly regretting her wait to shop.

"Well, it could be worse," Aviela cringed, "I'm sorry, Hermione."

"It could be. It's alright," Hermione sighed.

"You know, I am sure I have a dress you could borrow. I could try to alter it and make it more formal," Aviela tried to think of possibilities for Hermione. It was almost time for the students' curfew.

"It's okay, Aviela, really. I don't have to go," Hermione stated. It was of little importance for her to attend, but she couldn't deny that part of her wanted to go either.

"But you have to," Minerva pleaded. "We'll think of something, I promise."

"Minerva's right. We'll come up with something," Aviela assured her.

"Thanks," Hermione smiled at them, feeling guilty for troubling them when they should be concerned for their own costumes. She stepped back behind the curtain and changed out of the dress quickly, putting on her old clothes.

"We tried," Hermione offered as they began walking toward the exit.

"True, but don't give up," Aviela said in an attempt to relieve her as she pulled on the handle of the door.

"Wait! Girls!" The old woman called out from behind the clerk's counter off to the side. The trio turned around to see the woman bustling from around the side of the counter over to them.

"Hello, my name is Sue. I couldn't help but overhear you girls talking about a ball you're attending. I assume you are enrolled at Hogwarts, yes?"

They all nodded.

"I also couldn't help but notice that you are leaving empty handed, my dear," Sue addressed Hermione. "And curfew is almost here, no less. What are you going to do for the ball?"

"I'm not sure, but I'll come up with something," Hermione smiled. The woman pondered her for a moment, before smiling back and holding up a finger as to say "one moment." The girls looked back and forth at one another in curiosity. The woman walked behind the counter and into a back room sectioned-off by the same material as the dressing room curtain.

A minute or so later the woman returned with a long, pristine white box and a cubed brown one stacked on top of it.

"You know, I had a daughter once. She was so beautiful and vibrant. She loved to sit outside and read while drinking chamomile tea on sunny fall afternoons—much like one we had today. She was everything a mother could want," Sue said wistfully. "She died when she was twenty. A mean man had caught her in a back alley late one night when she was alone… It was a fatal incident I feel I could've prevented, but I have come to terms with her death and have accepted that it was something beyond my control.

"Even though I've forgiven myself and have had time to mourn, I have struggled to rid myself of her possessions," the elderly woman sniffed and blinked by tears as she sat the brown box on the ground and opened up the top to the white one.

"This was her favorite dress she wore to formal gatherings. I am growing old and there is little left I can do with my time to make a difference, but I hope that with this I can do a bit of good and honor Meredith's memory as well. I would like for you to have this. You remind me so much of her," Sue smiled sadly, her eyes shining.

Inside was a midnight blue gown with black lace inter-woven in the blue bodice, creating a feather-like pattern. The woman pulled the gown out and held it aloft. The dress had a single strap with a piece of silken, sheer material draping from the strap and down the back, adding to the elegance. The bodice appeared to be very structured while the bottom half, which was made up of a layer of silk material underneath a sheered overlay, flared out seamlessly in a gentle a-line shape. It was the most beautiful dress Hermione had ever seen.

"Are you sure you wish to part with it?" Hermione asked, admiring the gown's beauty.

"Absolutely," Sue grinned.

"How much do you want for it? I don't have a lot, but—"

"Free of charge, love. There's a pair of shoes in the other box along with some extra materials just in case you need them. You may have to charm the shoes to fit, but I believe the dress will fit like a glove." Sue folded the gown neatly and sat it back in the white paper-lined box. She secured the lid and stacked the brown box on top of it once more before handing it to Hermione.

"I don't know what to say, but thank you so much," Hermione said, exasperated. "Are you sure there's nothing I can do?"

"When you attend your ball, just please remember my Meredith and have a wonderful time in her honor," Sue requested as she grabbed Hermione's free hand, grasping it with fervor and smiling.

"Thank you, Sue, I definitely will," Hermione promised as she squeezed the woman's wrinkled hand back. They both looked over to the moving picture on the wall.

"She is lovely," Hermione commented as Sue let go of her hand.

"She was, my dear, she was," the woman agreed. "Now, off you go! You don't want to be late and have to deal with that old bat, Dippet. He can get a little grumpy at times, I would know, I went to Hogwarts with him!" Sue chuckled as she ushered the girls out of the door and into the cool, evening air.

"Thanks again, Ms. Sue," Aviela said.

"Yeah, thanks," Minerva called out.

"You girls behave!" The woman laughed, watching them walk away. Her youth had passed and so had her daughter, but seeing the light in eyes of the three girls and the warmth in their hearts made her feel young again.

Sue watched them walk until they disappeared at the end of the cobbled street before she walked back inside, locked the shop's door, and flipped the 'open' sign to 'closed.' It had been many years since she had used divination or received an intuitive feeling. After Meredith's death-something she never did foresee and thus couldn't prevent-she had allowed guilt and grief to consumer her, putting a stopper on her natural abilities. However, upon looking at the curly-headed girl that had entered her shop, she felt an unmistakable feeling stirring within her: the sight she had lost long ago. She had never seen this Hermione before girl in her life, nor was she sure that she ever would again, but because of her, Sue was able to feel that familiar warmth and power humming in her bones. Something she hadn't felt since Meredith left, and something she long missed.

Sue pulled her only daughter's picture off the wall. The black and white photo depicted a laughing, freckled girl who gleefully waved at the magical camera that had once been focused upon her youthful face. Sue smiled sadly, tracing her finger across the clean, wooden frame. Her finger roamed off the edge of the picture and froze. Sue's eyes became clouded fixated on the wall in front of her.

"Hermione Granger is special, Meredith. She is good and clever, just like you were," the woman spoke aloud in a trance-like state, "please be with her, my love, for she knows not of what demons await her at the door. She knows not of what death and destruction Tom Marvolo Riddle has planned."

The woman then gasped and reached for her chest slightly before falling to the floor, writhing. Her body spasmed on the floor before becoming stilling. Sue lay lifeless and crumpled among a sea of glass on the old, wooden floor. The picture frame had shattered, and inside, Meredith was still.


	21. The Wolves and the Sheep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another dream reveals a new path. Hermione visits the library. Christopher issues a warning. The Halloween Ball arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't manage to get a new chapter up! I've had some sort of viral, upper respiratory gunk since Saturday and have spent most of my days sleeping or zoned out on cold medicine. Thank you all so much for your patience! This will probably be the only chapter going up today due to writing and work that I need to catch up on, but I appreciate all the love and support I've received over the past few days! You all are awesome.
> 
> Also, I have linked my tumblr accounts on my profile page if you wish to follow me there in between chapters updates!
> 
> **Not all Pottermore, Fantastic Beasts, and Cursed Child content is included in this story--this is AU, please be aware.**

_"Run! Run! You have to go faster! Push yourself!"_

_Hermione ran as fast as her legs would carry her. Her breathing came out in quick, sharp bursts. Her chest ached from the cold air being sucked into them with each intake of breath. The dress she wore flowed out behind her like waves upon an ocean's surface, and her bare feet hit the floor painfully as she sprinted on her toes. Her hair had fallen down from the elegant bun that had once coiled it into place._

_"Hermione, you have to run faster!" The girl's voice came again, unfamiliar to her, but yet she still ran. She didn't know where she was running to, but all that mattered was that she kept going, that she escaped. Her ears throbbed as a roaring sound tore at them. _Just keep running. Just keep running.

_Hermione approached the corridor branching off to her right. She quickly grabbed the castle's stone wall and propelled herself forward, _turning the corner sharply to gain_ momentum. She glanced over her shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of her pursuer. _

_Behind her a fast moving vortex of darkness chased; sucking, pulling, and threatening to swallow her whole. Her ears roared even louder; a mixture of a thousand voices whispering, speaking indiscernible words that filled her head like an overflowing storm drain. Hermione felt her body slow and grow weary as she continued to stare at the black mass. She averted her eyes back to the hallway, forcing herself to face forward._

_Hermione's eyes squinted at her surroundings. She remembered this area and the place where all things were kept safe, hidden, and tucked away: the Room of Requirement. It served as a beacon of light in the tangible darkness. She saw the room's door slowly weaving and forming painfully slow at the end of the hall, giving promises of safe harbor. Hermione's lungs burned as she pushed herself and made headway for the magically appearing door._

_"Faster!" The girl's voice cracked as the door grew closer. The beautiful frame of the arched entryway caused her heart to leap in hope._

_As her fingers brushed the door's gilded silver handle, the roaring stopped and was replaced by dead silence._

_"Not fast enough," a dark, velvety voice whispered by her ear._

_Hermione gasped as a chill crept over her. She felt her body grow heavy and slow once again. She fought back the oppressive feeling and turned to face her pursuer._

_The wall of darkness swirled inches from her face; hushed whispers seemed to be coming from inside the darkness. The voices sounded muffled, as though the speakers were submerged underwater. The air was cool but thick. Hermione's breathing was labored as she peered into the smoky darkness that swirled and danced before her._

_Her logical side screamed for her to run, but her body protested as she took step forward, her feet moving against her will._

_In front of her a pale, slim hand extended from the mass palm up, reaching out to her, inviting her in._

_"Turn away," the small voice that had told her to run spoke, echoing from behind her-from behind the door._

_The hand jutting from the darkness rested still, waiting. Hermione looked from the hand to the door, time seemed frozen._

_Just as she willed herself to turn in the direction of the door, a man's voice broke the silence._

_"Just because it appears to be safe does not mean that it's just. Sometimes the paths that are most dangerous will lead us to the greatest rewards. Our destinies can often be much darker and grimmer than we realized, but then again, they can also be so much more. Fear and tribulation are only part of our woes, but our successes-our triumphs-outweigh our struggles. Do not fear the face of the dark, for it wears the identity we want it to wear. Be the face that of which true darkness will cower from-be the face of light residing in that darkness; the one that delivers, that is a beacon-and a promise. Become what the shadow of evil fears: the light of good. If there is a faint glow within the dark, then there is hope. If there is an ounce of good within one's heart, it can be found._

_Be strong, be courageous, and be wary, some will wear the mask of light, but harbor shadows within their eyes."_

_Hermione's resolve returned, and willingly she turned to face the dark mass. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes, listening to the voices pouring from the shadows. A voice, nearly masked in the waves of whispering, called out to meekly and a dim light seemed to wisp within the fog. With eyes still closed, her decision was made._

_Hermione reached out and grasped the hand still resting outside of the writhing darkness. Connected to the hand was a tall figure dressed in dark robes that stepped out of the smoke. The figure raised its head._

_Riddle's eyes met hers as they shifted from black to red, shining bright like stained glass in a cathedral window. He smiled menacingly down upon her, studying her. She raised her chin to him and opened her light gray eyes softly. Much like Riddles eyes, hers changed from silver to soft brown._

"_Darkness and light: one cannot exist without the other, and neither is one void of the other," Hermione spoke with a voice not her own; the voice of an older, wiser woman. It was true, they both had shattered pieces of light and dark inside of them—of good and evil. Riddle's light, though bleak and dimming by the day, was there shining softly in his blackening heart. Hermione's darkness, though small, was fueled by rage and duty, and it simmered, ready to be used as a weapon if she so willed it. They were the missing pieces to a disastrous puzzle; two halves of a whole._

_Riddle still stood over her, imposing and smiling darkly. She looked at him, her eyebrows furrowing in determination, a smirk forming on her lips, rivaling his. Hermione treaded upon dangerous grounds, but because she was driven by what could only be described as divine purpose, she didn't shiver in his cold presence for the first time._

_He beckoned to her with his red eyes and pulled Hermione gently by her hand into the swirling shadows, like a predator luring its prey into unsafe territory. She allowed him to pull her into the consuming darkness, her silver eyes meeting his all the while. Though their purposes and missions different, it was quite clear: Tom Riddle wasn't the only wolf in sheep's clothing among the flock._

* * *

"Wake up, Hermione! Oh, come on. Of all places?" Aviela groaned as she shook Hermione awake. She raised her head groggily and yawned, blinking away the sleep that had made her eyes heavy.

"What? Oh, sorry, Aviela. What's going on?" Hermione asked, her voice soft from just waking up.

"Oh, nothing at all aside from the fact that the ball is tonight and you are in the library asleep!"

Hermione sat in a wooden chair surrounded strewn books across a tabletop-her handiwork. She traced her hand down the left side of her face and felt the impressions in her flesh from sleeping atop her parchment and quill.

"Besides, why would you be so exhausted from studying? Finals aren't even remotely near!"

"I guess I was more exhausted than I realized while doing some research."

"What are you researching that is so important?" Aviela cocked a hand on her hip. Being a Ravenclaw, the girl admired a studious nature just as any other, but even she drew lines—especially when social events were involved.

"I was researching a few things for my Potion's project and just doing some independent studying. So what time is it anyway?" Hermione stood up and stretched before pushing her chair in.

"It's _only _three o'clock," Aviela said. Hermione's eyes grew wide and she immediately scrambled to gather her things and put the remaining books back in their respective places on the library's shelves. She was already supposed to be helping the committee decorate in the Great Hall.

"I am so sorry, Aviela. You must've been looking all over for me." Hermione shoved her parchments, quill, and two books into her messenger bag before securing it closed.

"Actually I wasn't. The library was a given," the blond laughed. "We are just now getting started, so don't worry, you didn't miss the fun."

"Yeah, _fun_," Hermione laughed.

"Yes, fun. Now come on!"

"You go ahead. I'm going to drop my things by the dormitory and I'll be right there. I promise," Hermione affirmed as she examined the skeptical look on Aviela's face.

"Alright, fine, but if you aren't there in fifteen minutes I will hex you." Aviela tried to be serious, but it only ended in the pair laughing. "Oh, and here. That should help." Aviela whipped out her wand and cast a charm on Hermione's face, ridding it of the red marks she had acquired during her impromptu slumber.

After Aviela left, Hermione walked back over to the shelves and grabbed a book she had open on the table previously and tucked it under her arm. It was called _The Founders, The Truth_ by Artessa Gribbot. The book's foreword itself had said that it was based off of mere speculation and rumors, but as Hermione knew, often there were far more truths than what the mouth of historical records wished to reveal. She was hoping to find out more about Alphard, Salazar Slytherin, and suspicions that Rowena Ravenclaw had possessed the sight of divination. Unfortunately she hadn't gotten very far before she had fallen asleep.

She was surprised that she had fallen asleep, but she could feel the weight and stress of the past week resting heavily on her shoulders. She hadn't spoken to Riddle or Abraxas, and she had seen them even less than usual. Christopher also seemed to be avoiding her to an extent, possibly from his embarrassment of what took place at the rocks in Hogsmeade. Hermione had felt a tinge of embarrassment herself when she met Abraxas' eyes from across the Great Hall during breakfast earlier that week, but it had slowly progressed to indifference, though she still didn't approve of their indecent conversations.

A foreboding had also settled itself deep into her bones, making her on edge. Chills would occasionally scrape across her arms at random; it was as though something was watching her or on the move. She had tried to force back the feeling, but ignoring it only kept her up late at night in further unease. Hermione would draw the curtains around her bed and bring Nyoka up onto the blankets with her. The serpent and she would whisper back and forth into the wee hours of the night about everything and nothing until Hermione finally fell asleep.

It was quite an unusual thing how much intelligence the tiny creature held. Hermione wondered if all animals held the same level of consciousness or if her magically given ability enhanced the snake's cognitive functions to a level of communication that was equal to her own. It was something worth delving into further.

Nyoka had told Hermione that the voices in the walls that were getting louder with each passing day. Hermione would only swallow deeply and tell her to steer clear for her safety. Though they did not speak to one another about it, they both knew that one voice was human, and the other clearly was not.

Regardless, Hermione was happy to have her companion if worse came to worse. The only problem was the snake's size: she was at least at foot long now, and rounder. She could tell Nyoka had much more growing to do and she was unsure of how to handle the _growing_ situation. She had to admit, it was nice having her companion with her, but it did make her nervous. Nyoka promised Hermione that she would come up with an idea that was reasonable-and that _didn't_ involve the serpent being draped across her shoulders.

Hermione walked up to the library's front desk. The librarian looked down upon her through the glasses that rested at the end of her nose. The woman's hair was pulled back tightly in a low bun and her mouth was set into a constant hard line.

"I would like to check this out, please," Hermione said as she sat the tome atop the shiny wooden counter. The librarian studied the cover momentarily before silently pulling out the book's catalog card and passing it to Hermione. She signed it with a dipped quill that rested on the edge of the desk, waved it slightly to allow it to dry, then handed it to the stern-looking woman before placing the book in her bag.

"You know, we have a book called _Hogwarts: A History_ if you are interested in something more _accurate_," the librarian said snootily.

"Thanks, but actually I already own it. It's my favorite work by Bathilda Bagshot." Hermione smiled, leaving the librarian in deep thought about the unusual girl who frequented her shelves and always placed the books back where they belonged.

* * *

Hermione finished dropping off her things in her's and Aviela's shared room and bid Nyoka goodbye to the serpent that had exited through the crack in the wall by the floor to hunt.

She saw Christopher sitting alone on the embroidered, deep blue couch by the low burning fire in the hearth, looking pensive. He sat slouched with his leg propped, his fingers picking at the decorative rope design that embellished the curves of the couch.

"Christopher? Aren't you coming to the Great Hall to help the committee decorate?" Hermione asked, breaking him from his trance.

"Sorry, what? Yes, I mean—no, no I can't," Christopher said awkwardly, surprised to see her.

"Why not?" Hermione studied him. He looked nervous and on edge.

"You know I would do anything to get out of _decorating_ for the ball. I was hoping to hideout, actually." Christopher sat up straighter, taking his leg of the sofa where it had been extended previously.

"Well, you know you are doing a horrible job at hiding out. This is the first place she'd look. She found me quite easily and it only took her one try," Hermione laughed as she sat down on the couch next to him.

"Perhaps. I didn't plan on staying here for very long. I was hoping to walk around the grounds, get some fresh air, and stake out on the quidditch pitch for a while." Christopher hunched forward, resting his elbows atop his knees.

"Some fresh air sounds nice. Studying has kept me indoors mostly."

"Would you like to join me for a walk outside, then? I am open to having company."

"I wish, but Aviela threatened to hex me if I didn't show up in the Great Hall by fifteen after." Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Who knows? She may keep her promise this time. I wish you the best of luck with that bunch. Try to keep Aviela sane; she has been acting ridiculous about this masquerade thing all week," Christopher said seeming to be a little disappointed by her answer.

"Will do," she smiled. Christopher rubbed his hands together nervously. His mouth opened and closed twice before he actually spoke.

"So, did Malfoy ever get around to asking you to the ball?" Christopher swallowed and seemed to pale a little. The question threw Hermione off-guard.

"I was anticipating it, but no, he never did."

"So you suspected he was going to ask you prior to… the incident at the rocks?" Christopher kept his eyes on the dying fire, letting out a breath he had been holding in.

"Someone had already told me that Abraxas planned to do so."

"Who told you?"

"Tom Riddle," Hermione said. Christopher's back grew rigid and he stopped rubbing his hands together. "Are you okay, Christopher?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Christopher said too quickly, but then forced himself to relax. Hermione saw through it, however.

"Christopher…"

"Look, Hermione, I know you were out walking with Riddle in the woods at Hogsmeade," Christopher began, but upon seeing Hermione's questioning look, he quickly fumbled for an explanation, "I wasn't spying or anything, I promise, it was just an observation." After Hermione didn't speak he continued.

"_Look,_ all I'm saying is Tom Riddle can be a bit…"

"Scary?" Hermione finished for him, her eyebrow raised while smirking.

"Yes." Christopher's mouth was set into a frown, his eyes serious. Hermione's smile was quickly wiped away. He turned himself to face her better. "I am sure I don't know him as well as most, but… he seems off, Hermione."

Although Christopher was careful in his words, he had no clue how correct he was or how "off" Riddle could possibly be.

"He can be rather brooding," Hermione offered, trying to act as though she didn't notice.

"Brooding, yeah, something like that… Hermione, all I'm trying to say is… just be careful, alright? I… don't want to see you hurt," Christopher forced the words out, turning his head away from her so that his eyes could drift about the room.

"Chris, I am not worried about emotional damage—"

"I wasn't just talking about emotionally. He seems dangerous, Hermione. Just… watch yourself, okay?" Christopher inclined his head to her, waiting for her promise.

"I will, Chris, you don't need to worry. I am very capable of defending myself from some big bad wolf," Hermione laughed, trying to lighten the situation, though it seemed to have no effect on Christopher who stared pensively into the dying embers in the fireplace. She stood up.

"I guess I better get going before Aviela hunts me down. I'll see you at the ball tonight? We could walk in together, if you'd like." Hermione tried to diffuse whatever negative thoughts loomed over the blond boy's head, he seemed to be more and more troubled lately.

"I wish I could, I really do, but actually I…" His ears reddened.

"You already have a date. Well, save a dance for me?"

"Absolutely," Christopher's face lit up instantly.

"See you then! Oh, and Happy Halloween, Christopher," Hermione smiled and waved goodbye as she exited the warm common room.

"Happy Halloween, Hermione…" Christopher spoke aloud to the empty room.

* * *

"And… there we go!" Aviela said as she waved her wand and put the final streamer in place. She stepped back and smiled proudly, admiring the handiwork her and the committee had put in.

The Great Hall's tables had been temporarily vanished for the night and the entirety of the hall was decorated in glistening purple, black, silver, and orange streamers. The floor had been charmed to release a constant, gently rolling fog to add a bit of mystery as students socialized in the low-hanging mists. Jack-o-lanterns rested upon various surfaces and they came in all shapes and sizes—some even floated high overhead near the charmed ceiling that looked like the night sky. Along with the floating carved pumpkins, the typical candles that usually floated about the hall were present as well.

When peering from the doorway of the Great Hall, the stage rested to the right and to the left were food and beverage tables that were covered by purple and black velveteen fabrics that draped down elegantly with golden tassels hanging from the ends of the bunched material. Near the back-most part of the hall, where the Hogwarts' staff had their meals, the wooden platform and tables had been hidden away and replaced with circular tables, each with eight chairs. The table cloths were black and had golden stars woven into them that shimmered when they caught the light.

On the stage was an unattended orchestra. The instruments tuned themselves as a conductor's wand, controlled by an invisible force, practiced swishing back and forth in an extravagant manner. The magically charmed instruments appeared to be having conversations: the bass would strum itself lowly a few times, and the violin would let out a high-pitched trill akin to laughter in response. It was a very unusual, but beautiful work of magic Hermione had witnessed their Charms professor perform. Overall, the Great Hall looked absolutely stunning, all that was needed were the students to arrive, the music to begin, and the food to appear.

"Well, what do you think?" Aviela asked, her hands on her hips, taking in the scene with pride.

"I think we did wonderful," Hermione replied. Aviela nodded in agreement as she looked at the clock hanging high about the Hall's doorway.

"It's already after six? The ball is only _two_ hours away!" Aviela panicked, grabbing Hermione by the hand for emphasis.

"Oh, Aviela, It's just a masquerade. It's not like it's your wedding day!" Minerva raised an eyebrow to the blond Ravenclaw girl.

"It might as well be! I am going with Irvin Milles." Aviela sighed and looked doe-eyed.

"You mean that loud, overtly energetic Gryffindor?" Minerva looked at her questioningly, before laughing under her breath. "You two are _perfect_ for each other."

"Minnie, you are only angry because you are taking Christopher and not a quidditch player with great hair," Aviela retorted. Minerva blushed.

"For your information, _Ave,_ I actually enjoy Christopher's company. Besides, _you _were the one who insisted on it so much." Minerva crossed her arms defiantly. _Did Minerva McGonagall, future Transfiguration professor actually have a crush on someone?_ Hermione thought to herself. She smiled at the strange notion. It was hard to see Minerva as a young witch capable of crushes when Hermione recalled her as a firm and fair Transfiguration teacher.

"I think you _both_ were able to get great catches for tonight," Hermione interrupted the two, diffusing the discussion.

"Who is taking you to the ball tonight, Hermione?" Aviela inquired.

"Yeah, you never told us," Minerva seconded.

"Actually, _I_ am not taking anyone," Hermione answered. The two girls' mouths were agape in shock.

"What do you mean you aren't taking anyone? That's the fun of it!" Aviela appeared torn.

"I just never really got around to it, I guess," Hermione lied. She was perfectly fine with going it alone. In fact, the idea of _having_ a date seemed more bizarre to her. Although she had attended the Tri-Wizard Tournament celebration with Viktor Krum, she wasn't exactly the type of person to find having a date a necessity for events or social gatherings. She had had a wonderful time with Krum, _until_ he pulled her behind a corridor and tried to snog her senseless. She wasn't opposed to kissing, but his sloppy maneuvers quickly made her change her mind. Much to her surprise, he wasn't put off by her entirely; the two had still remained in contact, owling each other every now and then.

"It's settled then. We have to find you a date," Aviela affirmed.

"In two hours? Aviela, honestly, you don't want Hermione going with just anyone—especially someone less than savory." Minerva tried to reason with the blond.

"You don't believe I can find Hermione a date in two hours _and_ get ready at the same time? Watch a true Ravenclaw at work, _Gryffindor_," Aviela smirked in challenge before turning on her heel and strutting out the door.

"What have we created?" Minerva shook her head.

"A monster, clearly. I am _not_ taking anyone, and that's settled," Hermione assured Minerva, but moreover, herself.

After Hermione had showered she sat in front of the mirror at the vanity in her room. Aviela was nowhere to be seen, but Hermione wished the girl would appear, even if it were with a date: she desperately needed help taming her curls that were frizzing more than usual.

She dragged the comb roughly through her tangles with frustration. It was always on important days that her hair decided to cause her grief. She huffed in frustration and looked at her ball gown hanging on the outside of the oak wardrobe's door. The gown was the most beautiful thing she had ever lain eyes on. Hermione had yet to try the elaborate garment on, but something inside told her it would fit perfectly, just as the old woman, Sue, had said. The generosity of others always tended to catch her pleasantly off guard.

Hermione attempted to tug the comb through another set of tangles as the door to the dorm room opened. Aviela bustled in quickly, smiling wide. Hermione let go of the brush, which stayed stuck haphazardly in her hair, and turned to the girl with a look of disappointment.

"Wow, your hair really does fight back, doesn't it?" Aviela looked at Hermione bug-eyed.

"Very funny, now are you going to help me or not?" Aviela withdrew her wand and begin wordlessly casting spells on her hair. Hermione watched in the mirror as various colors fell upon her head in a cool mist.

After a few moments of working in silence, Aviela casted a drying charm on Hermione's hair—one of which the brunette girl used frequently herself—but the results were quite different. Her hair laid softly in gentle curls and waves that shined from the well-lit room.

"You should really market your talents, Aviela." Hermione admired the hair that had only been tamed once before at the celebration during her fourth year.

"I could teach you how. We'll have a girl's night soon and I'll show you," Aviela beamed, more giddy than usual.

"So what took you so long?" Hermione asked as the blond pulled out a box of hair accessories and began working Hermione's hair.

"Oh, nothing really," Aviela brushed off the question as she took a strand of Hermione hair and pulled it backward, gathering it with the rest. "Nothing aside from me finding you a date!"

Hermione quickly whipped her head around, mouth agape, causing the gathered hair to fall. Aviela rolled her eyes, and grabbed Hermione by the shoulders, turning her around.

"I told you I was fine _without_ a date," Hermione groaned.

"I know, but most of the students had dates and I didn't want you to feel left out while everyone else was dancing," Aviela pouted. Hermione suddenly felt guilty for throwing her friend's efforts back at her without so much as a "thank you."

"I'm sorry, it's just that I didn't mind going alone."

"It's alright. I was almost positive that Abraxas was going to ask you to the masquerade." Aviela began pinning Hermione's hair in various places as she twisted and styled. Hermione had never told her of what transpired at the rocks—and it was clear that neither had Christopher. She was relieved.

"So who is my date for the night?" Hermione winced as Aviela pulled too tightly. Aviela laughed.

"I have absolutely no idea," Aviela giggled. Hermione moved to turn around quickly again, but Aviela pulled her hair purposefully to keep her from doing so, smiling all the while.

"What do you mean you have no idea? You just said you found me a date," Hermione said.

"I did, but I am not sure who it is. I talked to a few of the students already milling about and after a bit of trying, I finally struck gold. The boy I asked suggested that you attend the ball with his friend as he too was dateless."

"Are you going to tell me who exactly this informant was?"

"Nope," Aviela said simply. "Besides, it doesn't matter, he wasn't your date."

"If you say so," Hermione felt dread creep into her bones. Maybe making assumptions was wrong, but the last thing she wanted to do was attend the ball on a blind date with a boy who would expect her to entertain him and end his night with a telltale kiss. _So not happening._ "When am I to meet him?"

"His friend said that he would arrange for the two of you to meet at the entrance of the castle at eight-fifteen sharp." Aviela spun Hermione around and she glanced up at the clock in the room. It was seven-thirty. The uncertainty of it all made her hunch over in dissatisfaction. It wasn't until Aviela corrected her posture manually that she dropped her sullen appearance.

Hermione sat in silence as Aviela did her makeup. She had not requested anything specific, but when it came to anything fashion or beauty related, Aviela had a solution. The girl brushed, applied, and coated her face in various products. She was almost sure that the Ravenclaw girl was making her into a clown until she spun her around with a smile, handing her a mirror.

Hermione eyes grew wide as she studied herself in the reflective surface. She lifted the mirror and studied the back of her hair which was pulled into a coiled bun adorned by a fake lotus flower charmed to match the deep blue color of her dress. A series of curls that hung from the bun framed her face softly. Hermione studied her Aviela's handiwork closer. The makeup wasn't overdone, nor was it nonexistent. Her eyes stood out more than usual from the mascara and eyeliner Aviela had applied. She had even managed to conceal the dark circles that had plagued Hermione's eyes lately. Her skin appeared smoother and the light dusting of freckles that was once on her nose had disappeared. Finally, her lips were glossy and stained a deep red to compliment her skin tone.

Hermione was greatly impressed. The girl in the mirror was not exactly her, but she was still just as beautiful. She had rarely seen the need for makeup in her life aside from a concealer here and there or lip gloss on occasion, but seeing herself adorned in it made her feel no different. She was still herself, and at the end of the night, the makeup would come off and she would still be the same. It had taken years for Hermione to gain self-confidence in her flaws, but when she had finally done it, she felt as though a weight had been lifted from her that she never even knew existed.

"Thanks, Aviela. It looks fantastic," Hermione smiled at her friend.

"You're welcome! Here, let me cast a charm to help keep it in place… and there you go. Oh, I almost completely forgot!" Aviela walked away and opened the nightstand that sat beside her bed and withdrew a small box. "I know you didn't have the chance to get a mask while we were in Hogsmeade, so Minerva and I worked on this together for you. Here, open it!"

Aviela pushed the box into Hermione's hands eagerly and waited. The golden box glittered as Hermione removed the lid. She pushed back the tissue paper the box was lined with and gasped.

Inside was an eagle mask. The design held the same midnight blue that her dress and the Ravenclaw house shared, along with black and bronze. The mask was sleek and polished.

"Try it on! Try it on!" Aviela jumped up and down excitedly. Hermione slid the mask in place. It fit as though it were catered to her and her only.

In the space between the cat-like eye openings that allowed her to see, the body of the eagle rested, its face staring straight ahead in judgment with midnight blue gems for its eyes. The eagle's wings were outstretched, creating the edges of the mask. The edges curved sharply with each bronze feather that reached out and curved backward at an angle. The parts of the mask that didn't consist of the eagle's body was lined with a soft material that shifted from midnight blue to black—just as a clear, night sky would do during a late sunset. Hermione brushed her fingertips across the eagle's outstretched wings; the feel as cool and smooth-_real_ bronze.

"Aviela… I don't know what to say. How did you and Minerva…"

"I am quite clever, no? My dad does some magical metal working and I've picked up on a thing or two over the past few years," Aviela blew on her knuckles and rubbed them into her shirt like she were polishing them. "Now hurry and slip into your dress and head on down to meet your date. I already charmed your shoes for you." Hermione looked at the clock; it read eight.

"I am sorry it took so long for you to help me, are you sure you will be able to make it to the ball in time for the dinner to begin?" Hermione felt a pang of guilt, but Aviela only laughed.

"Don't worry, Hermione, I have this down to a science," she winked.

"So why a Ravenclaw eagle? Isn't that a bit bold?" Hermione asked as she removed the mask to undress.

"Hermione, you and I both know if anyone embodies the essence of Ravenclaw, it's _you._"

A few moments later Hermione was wearing her ball gown and shoes. Sue had been right: the dress fit like a glove. It complimented every soft curve of her body, the material cascading gently around her. The fabric that draped over her shoulder Aviela charmed to be bronze in color to match the mask. Never before had she felt as beautiful as she had in that moment. Her beauty hadn't only come from her appearance, but from the kindness of friends, which she felt was the biggest contributing factor of all. She wondered if anyone would even recognize her. Deep down, she hoped not. She hoped to remain the mysterious girl in the eagle mask.

After bidding Aviela farewell with promises to see her soon, Hermione made the trek through the mostly empty halls to meet her date. Although her confidence was renewed, she still felt uneasy about attending the ball with a stranger.

Hermione turned down a corridor and saw one of the paintings hid the passageway with the portrait of Alphard Corvus inside. Not wishing to walk down even more stairs in her dress, she gently opened the painting of the men playing cards, bidding them a good day, and entered. She wandlessly casted _lumos_ to light the dark passage.

"Hello? Who's there?" a man's voice called out. Hermione came into view, capturing his attention. "Why, hello there, beautiful," Alphard purred.

"Oh, come on? Do you always have to act so odd, _honestly_?" Hermione rolled her eyes. She often wished he were like the other paintings and portraits throughout Hogwarts: quiet, to themselves, and not a depiction of someone who had used dark magic to alter her life forever in the name of the greater good.

"Hermione? That was quite unexpected. Did I just find my own daughter attractive?" Alphard questioned himself.

"I am _not_ your daughter," she retorted.

"Where are you going, looking all fancied up for the evening, then?" He moved about the portrait nonchalantly.

"Hogwarts is having a Halloween ball—a masquerade, actually."

"And I take it you are off to meet your fine suitor?" He smirked, raising an eyebrow as though he knew.

"Maybe, maybe not, regardless it is none of _your_ concern," Hermione said finitely. She didn't wish to discuss her dating life with the supposed son of Slytherin and Ravenclaw; she was already running late.

"Not only do you look like the embodiment of my mother but now you are starting to act like her. Could this day get any worse?" Alphard groaned in a childish manner.

"Goodnight, Alphard." Hermione ignored him and kept walking.

"Make sure to stay safe! No snogging after hours! And don't stay out late! And—"

"I said goodnight!" She then said "_nox"_ and stepped out of the end of the passageway.

"And you look beautiful, Hermione," Alphard smiled. Although she wasn't his daughter, and although his mother didn't love him as one should, Rowena's beauty and wisdom radiated within Hermione.

Hermione had finally made it to the entryway of Hogwarts and had began looking around for her mystery suitor. Masked couples passed by, laughing and walking into the Great Hall to begin the festivities. She had arrived late and was positive that her date had stood her up for not being punctual until she heard shoes clacking behind her and stopping suddenly.

Before her stood a tall, dark-haired boy dressed in a black, finely pressed suit. He stood with perfect posture, his lips were thin, but smooth, and his dark eyes studied her from head to toe behind the green and black serpent half-mask he wore. His mouth was open slightly and by the look of his eyes he appeared taken aback or confused. However, he quickly smiled a half-smile and swiftly stepped toward her, taking her hand and planting a kiss upon it as he bowed.

"Hello, Hermione, I will be your date for the evening, and might I say that you look _lovely_," the boy grinned. Hermione studied him momentarily. Something about him was familiar, but she couldn't place what it was.

"Something wrong?" He asked innocently.

"No, no! You just seemed familiar. I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name," Hermione shook away the notion of familiarity she had from meeting the stranger.

"There's no need for names, Hermione. Let's live for today, for it could be our last." The boy smirked down upon her. His words, though innocent enough, seemed unfitting in the conversation. She felt that familiar chill creep into her skin, but it was replaced by warmth when the stranger's hand came to rest on her lower back, leading her from the foyer and into the throng of adorned animals, dancing under the full moon of All Hallows' Eve.


	22. A Mind for Vengeance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Halloween Ball commences. Riddle works his charm. Hermione is oblivious. Shadows loom over Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all the support and love--especially with me being sick this past week! Your kind words and comments definitely made a difficult week much better. I am looking forward to Thanksgiving break next week so I can get a lot of writing done. We are almost caught up to my current chapters, so I can't wait for you all to read what I have in store. 
> 
> Anywho, I hope ya'll enjoy this chapter!
> 
> **Not all Pottermore, Fantastic Beasts, and Cursed Child content is included in this story--this is AU, please be aware.**

He took her hand and placed a kiss against it chastely.

"Hello, Hermione, I will be your date for the evening, and might I say that you look _lovely_," he grinned from beneath the serpent mask which shrouded the area around both of his eyes and curved to cover part of his face. The mask had two slanted eye holes out of which he could see, the upper part of the mask flared out like a cobra's hood. On the side of the mask that curved downward was a small, sharpened point, painted to create the illusion of a fang. The emerald color of the snake's scales caught the light, reflecting it off the metallic surface with a silvery glow. He watched as Hermione studied him. Something about him was familiar to her, but it was evident she couldn't decipher what.

Riddle smirked. Although she couldn't place his identity to the mysterious man standing before her, it should have been quite obvious that the only person audacious—and deserving—enough to bear the mark of Slytherin was him. However, he could say the same of her: the mask Hermione wore, that of a bronze eagle, was the mascot of the Ravenclaw house. In truth, he couldn't picture anyone else worthy of wearing it than her. She embodied the house's ideals quite well.

The glamour charm he had cast over himself was working at peak efficiency. With the charm, he would be the enigmatic stranger of the night and no more to her—as long as he didn't remove the mask in her presence.

She continued to study him; her eyes squinted behind her bronze mask in thought, her head tilted slightly to one side.

"Something wrong?" He asked innocently.

"No, no! You just seemed familiar. I'm sorry, I don't think I caught your name," Hermione said to him as he watched her shake away the notion of familiarity she had from meeting his glamorized form.

"There's no need for names, Hermione. Let's live for today, for it could be our last." He grinned down upon her. His words, far from innocent, felt sweet upon his lips. He had planned this night for a long time and he would soon see his and Salazar's ambitions realized.

Hermione seemed uneasy at his words, but to chase away her doubts he placed his hand upon her lower back, leading her from the foyer and toward the Great Hall. Her midnight blue dress felt cool and silky to his fingertips. He frowned at the way his hand settled perfectly into the curve of her back, but he particularly felt unsettled at how he found that he didn't mind the contact too much either.

Upon entering the grand room, Hermione and Riddle were greeted with students adorned in animal masks and sparkling evening wear. Some milled about the room, others sat at tables chatting, and even more were beginning to make use of the dance floor. Riddle cringed inwardly, he couldn't stand foolish occasions that required niceties to be made. He knew these scenarios all too well: it was his everyday life. Attending events and celebrations were part of the upkeep of the façade he had crafted. Rarely had he ever looked forward to parties and banquets, unless it was a means to an end. Though the formalities of the night would drag on, he looked forward to its end.

As they made their way across the floor, Riddle observed the ballroom. It was quite remarkable. The moon hung high, full and bright, in the night sky of the enchanted ceiling. Ever so often a cloud would stroll across the starless sky or a lit candle would float by, assisting to cover the bright orb. Fog endlessly rolled across the floor of the dimmed room and swept up wistfully with the movements of legs and arms, slipping in between limbs like liquid. The charmed instruments had already begun playing a series of classical tunes in an eerie tone. A few couples had already taken to the dance floor, gliding about in their animal masks.

Riddle took note of the eyes drifting toward them as they entered. The students that had been idly talking with one another lowered their voices to whispers and eyed them with intrigue. He knew that the others were enthralled by their boldness of sporting the mascots of two of the Hogwarts houses. They continued to stun the students as they walked past gracefully, leaving them curious as to who hid beneath the masks.

The corner of his mouth turned upward. Riddle had never been one to seek attention; however, when it found him, he never failed to use it to his advantage—or revel in it. He and Hermione approached the dance floor and the dancers ceased their swaying slowly. Riddle guided Hermione across the floor; the students parted like waters of the Red Sea, acting as though they stood on hallowed ground before two ethereal beings.

Riddle paid their curiosities no mind and led Hermione, his hand still resting firmly on the curve of her back. Had she known it was him, she would have already withdrawn her wand by now, however he doubted she would be daring enough to hex him. Hermione Sivad was clear in her intentions of disliking him, but he always called her bluff when she threatened him.

She was a mystery. One moment she seemed as though she were about to attack him, another she seemed to make the most of his company, and then-on rare occasions-she appeared to fear him. _As she should._

He watched her smile politely to those around her, uttering an "excuse me" as she walked ahead of Riddle. Although he thoroughly enjoyed getting a rise out of her, he found that having her cooperate with him could possibly be just as interesting. He chuckled at the notion.

"What's so funny?" Hermione asked him casually, no hint of malice in her voice. _Very interesting, indeed._

"It seems we have captured the attentions of our audience," he commented. The Ravenclaw looked around at his words, taking note of the students before looking down at herself.

"I don't have anything on my dress, do I?" She asked, suddenly very concerned.

"Aside from my hand? I say not," Riddle said lowly. She seemed to flush slightly. "Nothing is wrong, they are only intrigued by _us_." He saw Hermione take a breath and laugh before she ducked her head, acting as though she wore no mask at all and was attempting to hide the embarrassment on her face.

"I highly doubt that." She shook her head back and forth. Riddle knew her to be very forward about her intelligence and magical prowess, however she was more reserved in every other aspect. Unlike many of the girls he saw, she did not prance around, trying to get away with wearing a shorter skirt, intricately styled hair, or a face heavy with makeup. In fact, she was quite modest—save for tonight. The dress she wore wasn't so much revealing as it was fitted; it only displayed part of her shoulders and back. It moreover showed off her thin, curved form, amplifying her features. The bronze tinted material that matched her mask hung down in the back, seeming to float behind her effortlessly. It was a stark difference from what she usually wore. She seemed to know it too.

Her milky skin glowed like ivory and her berry-tinted lips shined in the light. Riddle found himself almost wishing to remove the bronze eagle mask she wore only to observe her without being hidden. She was graceful, poised, and fitting enough to be seen with him tonight. In fact, he found that she was putting the other girls' attempts of looking attractive to shame. _Attractive?_ He shook his head, grimacing at the words his mind had formed together, and frowned heavily.

Hermione seemed at ease, despite being paired up with a stranger for the evening. Under the guise of someone else, Riddle was sure that she would be willing to reveal a different side of her identity. It was a theory he planned to test, and he could thank Abraxas for the opportunity later. It was Malfoy, after all, who told the annoying Goldstein girl that he could find her a date easily—and easily he had. Riddle hadn't planned to attend the masquerade until _much_ later, but Abraxas had insisted upon using the occasion to the utmost advantage. However, he had seen through Malfoy's intentions: he feared for her safety upon learning of his plans for the night.

Abraxas had taken an unusual liking to the Sivad girl, and he was quite amused by it. He had agreed to go with her for the evening at Malfoy's behest due to him finding a different date after his initial plans fell through at the rocks in Hogsmeade. Riddle had also promised him he would try to deter her from attending the soiree once he took his leave to deal with other matters at hand. He had even agreed to Abraxas' "last resort" plan if she didn't willingly oblige to his wishes. Nevertheless, if she got in the way, he would not be at fault—that he made clear to Abraxas.

His hand ceased guiding her when they seated themselves side by side at one of the round, clothed tables. They observed the masquerade. The occasion had yet to get into full swing, but the night was young, and Riddle was sure the main event that he had planned for them all would be most entertaining.

He watched Hermione as she sat straight-backed in her seat, seeming nervous as she scanned the crowd.

"Looking for someone?" Riddle asked politely.

"No—I mean yes. A friend of mine, I was hoping she would arrive on time. I fear I may have troubled her with all the help she has given me for the evening."

Riddle fought the urge to raise an eyebrows at her formalities. She had never been as formal with the real him.

"Fear not, I am sure she will show soon. The night has just begun," Riddle reassured her. "If it wouldn't trouble you, I ask that you tell me a little about yourself. I have only seen you in passing, therefore I have never had the pleasure of meeting the _true_ Hermione Sivad." Riddle spoke his bittersweet lies and allowed the glamor charm to do the rest.

Hermione recounted the same story that everyone had heard of her, though Riddle knew it not to be as infallible as she hoped. Just as a story memorized and recited numerous times was, she said it in the same order as though she were reading it off of a page.

"Fascinating. So sorry to hear about your parents. Tell me, what was it like attending Beauxbatons? I am sure it is _much_ more interesting than Hogwarts."

Hermione thought for a moment before replying. "The uniforms, student body, and teaching approach were different, but the lessons taught always coincided with the same curriculum expected of all magical institutions."

"Who was your favorite teacher at the academy?"

"Mrs. Preston was quite lovely. She taught charms," Hermione said easily.

Had Riddle not held his prior speculations of her, he would have believed her answer entirely.

"That's—"

"Hermione? Is that you? You look absolutely radiant," a girl behind a gray cat mask exclaimed, cutting Riddle off. He frowned at the sudden intrusion as Hermione turned to face the girl before their table.

"Minerva," Hermione laughed, her eyes sparkling with a knowing Riddle didn't understand. Unbeknownst to him, the future Minerva McGonagall would have an animagus form to match her tabby cat mask.

"When I saw the mask I was sure it was you. Once Aviela shaped the mask, I took over to transform and decorate it. I'm sure she had you under the impression she did most of the work, right?" McGonagall asked. Riddle wouldn't doubt the Gryffindor for a moment that she had done most of the work, in fact, he was surprised someone like Aviela Goldstein had even made it into the Ravenclaw house among intelligent company. She was spotty at best when it came to being knowledgeable. As for Christopher, he was much smarter than his twin sister, but he had yet to seen to what extent. _With Goldstein having joined the Knights I am sure there will be much more to be revealed about him with time._

Despite having joined the Knights of Walpurgis little more than a month ago, Riddle was already questioning the Ravenclaw's reasons for doing so. Tom Riddle was no fool; he knew Goldstein had an ulterior motive, as for what it was he couldn't say. It was clear that he had been fearful and friendless for the majority of his past years, but he quickly had adjusted to the new regime the new year had brought for him. Riddle surmised that the boy had grown tired of his dull life and was looking for excitement to round out his last year. _Coming to the Knights, he made a good choice if he truly is looking for something more… uncommon. _Regardless of Goldstein's reasons, he could tell that the boy feared him to some extent, and for Riddle, that was all the leverage he needed.

"You _both_ did an excellent job. The mask is absolutely beautiful, thank you, and you look lovely as well, Minerva," Hermione smiled up at the girl who wore a red, cap-sleeved dress with a rounded neckline that cinched at the waist before flowing out to reach her mid-calves. It sparkled in the light, but other than that the dress was modest—even when paired with the pearl necklace sitting on her slender neck. The Gryffindor's hair was piled up in elegant curls atop her head with a decorative pearl veil encasing her bun.

He watched as Hermione stood and hugged Minerva in greeting. Riddle rolled his eyes under his mask. When attending social events, all women were the same. They talked about nothing of importance, hugged, laughed far too loud, and always parted with overly enthusiastic waves. Riddle rarely kept himself in the company of women for those very reasons—and because he knew how they could gossip.

He could not deny, he had a few _acquaintances _in the past, so to speak, but he never kept the women around for longer than necessary. At any given time he could find a female ready to do him a favor—sexual or otherwise—however, he had never been truly intimate with one. He had no desire. Riddle believed that intimacy and love was what made the human race so weak-willed and volatile. _Love turns people into horridly cut paper dolls; easy to tear and ruin. Everyone wants to be a victim of circumstance._

Riddle scoffed at the thought of "true love." He believed the majority of intimacies and loves were only lies to be used to coerce and manipulate. The only time he saw intimacy as fitting was for the purpose of reproducing, seeing as it is within human nature to thrive and exist. For whom should be allowed to reproduce was an entirely different matter to him. It would be of no consequence to him if muggles and muggleborns ceased existing.

A blond-haired boy in a white wolf mask stood across the dance floor with his hands in his pockets, watching their table. Riddle observed the young man out of the corner of his eye. He wore a neatly pressed suit with a red bow tie resting at his throat. Even with dancers swaying past, his eyes never left them. Riddle followed the wolf's gaze; the figure watched Hermione silently, his eyes never breaking from her. Riddle found it odd considering that he was more than likely Minerva McGonagall's date for the evening.

The wolf's shrouded eyes met Riddle's. Their stares were locked-even as students milled and danced by, blocking the line of sight. Riddle raised his eyebrow inquisitively. He had made sure that all of his Knights revealed their masked identities for the night as to avoid confusion when his plan was put into action. Though he knew his glamour charm was in full effect, he could've sworn that the boy across the room could see right through his mask. Riddle never told his entourage about his disguise-save for Abraxas who had procured him the mask the week prior in an effort to further coerce him into attending the masquerade earlier on than planned. Abraxas had said Riddle could use a little livelihood, but he knew that the Malfoy heir only offered up the suggestion as a means to hopefully deter his plan of grandeur and glory. It didn't.

His mouth pressed into a hard line. The young man had yet to break his gaze with Riddle, almost challenging him to look away first. Riddle sneered: he never caught wind of Christopher Goldstein's planned disguise. At that revelation, Riddle leaned back in his chair and smirked at the Goldstein boy, the silver fang on his mask catching in the light, before turning his lowered gaze back to Hermione, staring at her in earnest. After a minute or so, he allowed his eyes to drift back to the wall where the wolf was. Goldstein was gone. Riddle had won his meaningless victory.

He turned back to see Minerva waving goodbye and Hermione taking her seat again.

"I'm so sorry. What were you saying before?" She looked genuine in her apologies.

"It's quite alright, Miss Sivad, the evening isn't entirely my own. Feel free to enjoy it with your friends if you so wish it," Riddle conceded as he adjusted his silver cufflinks.

"And leave you to yourself? If this is indeed… a date, then I wouldn't be so imprudent. If you won't tell me your name, perhaps you'll tell me a little about yourself." Hermione smiled at him nervously.

Riddle pondered her response for a moment. _A date?_ Though his mind scoffed at the notion, by accepting the invitation as extended through Abraxas, he had, in fact, agreed to be her "date" for the evening.

"I am not quite as interesting as my mask may lead you to believe, Miss Sivad. I don't play quidditch, nor do I enjoy any particular shop in Hogsmeade. I rarely have outings with friends and would rather be by the fireplace reading. I can assure you, my life isn't quite so magnificent." Riddle was accustomed to others inquiring about his interests and personality, however, he never truly revealed himself to them. He settled with observable facts, nothing more.

"Quidditch has always been something I cared very little for—I don't particularly take kindly to heights. I enjoy Hogsmeade, but prefer the parchment shops and bookstores to all others. As for reading, I'd rather be doing that than almost any other thing," Hermione said in turn.

"You're afraid of heights?" Riddle raised an eyebrow, although hidden by his mask.

"Yes. It's not that unusual, you know," Hermione said defensively, her face flushing pink.

"Not entirely, I suppose." Riddle held up his arm, watching the cufflinks catch the moon and candlelight drifting throughout the room. "What if I challenged you to a broom race around Hogwarts?"

"I would have to politely decline your offer." Hermione crinkled her nose up at him.

"Do you even know _how_ to ride a broom?" Riddle asked nonchalantly while not even looking in her direction.

"Of _course_ I do. Every first year has mandatory lessons."

"So you even had to take lessons at Beauxbatons?" He studied her out of the corner of his eye.

"Yes, we did, and I am sure they aren't much different than the hellish Broom Flight classes taught here at Hogwarts," Hermione replied evenly.

"I suppose not," Riddle chortled. "Though I am not one to enjoy quidditch, I am an _excellent_ broom racer. Perhaps it's best that we not wager a match, I would hate to embarrass my _date_ for the evening." Riddle threw up his hand at the ghostly figure toting around a tray of drinks. The translucent man, dressed in Victorian era attire, nodded to him and floated by expertly, extending the tray to him. Riddle grasped a goblet, extending it to Hermione. Her eyes were narrowed slightly, but she took it from him. He took another for himself and waved his hand at the ghost, signaling that he was finished with his services. The Victorian specter let out a low "harrumph" at Riddle's arrogance before floating off again.

"You would challenge me to a race on the night of the ball? It would hardly be appropriate—especially in my evening attire." Hermione tilted her head back and drank from the goblet of spiced pumpkin juice.

"I am not one to forgo a challenge if I see room for one to be made." Riddle sipped on the drink lazily as he watched couples waltz on the dance floor. Some of the more uncoordinated students—particularly young men—frequently stepped on the toes of others, earning themselves harsh glancing from the more graceful patrons.

"How very Slytherin-esque of you." Hermione coughed and sat her glass down on the table, looking at him inquisitively.

"Taking jabs at my house, are you? I am wounded," Riddle said with heavy sarcasm. "And how observant of you, might I add. Are quick-witted judgments common in Ravenclaw, or just in you?" He immediately regretted letting his words fly out so unceremoniously. His mission was to discover more about her, not offend her before the night had barely begun. Normally he wouldn't mind getting a rise out of her, but tonight was one of his only chances to see past the barrier she put up for him daily. He calmly awaited her reply. She looked out at the dancers momentarily in thought before smirking darkly at him, her eyes slits behind her mask.

"Just me," she said before taking a long drink from her goblet. He laughed at her audacious response. Riddle couldn't help but wonder if the Sorting Hat had considered placing her in Slytherin.

* * *

Hermione turned away from the handsome, mysterious man sitting next to her and back to the ballroom. She watched the instruments play without musicians tending to them, the ghosts float throughout the room as they served and chatted up students, and the long table to the right of the room as it magically begun to fill itself full of hearty foods and colorful sweets. Her stomach growled and she felt embarrassed, but thankfully the young man next to her seemed not to notice.

She stood up and pushed her chair back in, careful not to snag the silky material of her dress. She turned back to her date.

"I am going to the buffet, would you like to join me?"

He seemed to be weighing the decision, before he finally nodded and stood.

They walked over to the long table that was covered in delectable fare and began to help themselves. Though Hermione was at ease with the masquerade, some sort of nervousness residing in her kept thrumming with every step she took. She didn't know if it was because of some shrouded insecurity or the man she walked beside, but either way, she settled for lighter foods. However, in a last minute decision, she snagged a slice of pumpkin bread.

As she walked back to their table, she notice that the snake-masked boy was already in his seat. _How did he get back so fast?_

"Hermione! There you are!" Aviela rang out clear over the music and chatter that filled the ballroom. Hermione halted in her steps and turned to face the direction of the voice. Hermione saw Aviela adorned in her petite, white mouse mask—just as she had said she would wear—and a sleek white dress with a purple sash at the waist. The front dipped low, but she was sure that, in Aviela's opinion, it wasn't low enough. In tow was a tall brunette boy with broad shoulders, sporting a mask that looked like the face of a German shepherd. Aviela pulled the boy along by his hand through the crowd. He didn't seem to mind it, a grin plastered on his flushed face.

"Aviela, I thought you'd never get here." Hermione smiled to her friend.

"Me either. It took a little long than expected, and I had a little bit of a delay." Aviela's eyes rolled over to the young man beside her. He seemed to be over-enthusiastic and stumbled slightly at their abrupt stop.

"So, er… who's your date?" Hermione tilted her head, studying the boy as though he were a different breed of human.

"This is Avrin Callahan, he's Gryffindor's quidditch captain," she winked, "but Avrin and his friends thought it would be a good idea to _loosen up_ a bit before the masquerade." Aviela scowled slightly at him. The boy seemed oblivious to their conversation as he threw his hand up to the crowd, some of who cheered in return. Hermione assumed it was his quidditch mates.

"He's drunk?" Hermione looked at her with big eyes.

"Don't worry, I'll keep him on a tight leash." Aviela winked before turning back to Avrin with clear displeasure written on her face. "Come on Avrin, I'll grab you something to ease up the symptoms."

"More drinks?" He was very enthusiastic, indeed. Aviela huffed and threw Hermione an apologetic look over her shoulder. Hermione returned the look before going back to the table she had occupied.

She sat down beside the snake-masked stranger and began picking at her food, her appetite struggling. The young man next to her ate neatly, not even spilling a single crumb from his almost-empty plate.

"Are you feeling well, Miss Sivad?" He asked politely.

"I'm fine, I promise," she offered him an impish smile, "the masquerade is just very exciting. Thank you, for your concern."

He nodded in acknowledgment before departing the table with his empty plate in hand. He threw away his trash before striding across the dance floor, disappearing into the throng of students. Hermione returned to her food, opting for taking small bites. Although she had been excited for the masquerade to an extent, she found a foreboding and sense of dread taking its place with each tick on the grand clock hanging on the wall. The Roman numerals counted and she could hear its deep ticks underneath the ambiance, making her paranoia grow. She fought it by washing her worries down with another glass of pumpkin juice.

* * *

Riddle stalked away from the table and weaved through the dancing couples. Leaning against the furthest wall from him, he saw a figure dressed in fine robes, a silken vest, and a falcon mask.

_Abraxas._

Riddle approached him with a nod and leaned up against the wall beside him, observing the students dancing, chatting, and laughing merrily. His face was impassive as his eyes skimmed the room. The only other time he had felt this nervous was on his first day at Hogwarts, after that, he knew the school would soon be wound around his finger easily. However, he wasn't feeling as assured at the moment. His eyes turned to Hermione.

She sat slumped over in her chair, a look similar to confusion written on her face as she picked at her dish. The moonlight drifted down upon her, illuminating her dress like a midnight river. He saw the wolf-masked boy watching her from nearby. Christopher Goldstein didn't trust Riddle to keep his word.

The Goldstein boy had only been with them for a short time, but he expected complete loyalty nonetheless. When the plan for the masquerade was discussed, he had watched Christopher closely. Though he knew the boy feared him to some end, he was unsure if he could keep quiet—even with legilimens to reassure him. One night after the Knights of Walpurgis adjourned, he approached Goldstein with an offer the golden-haired boy _wouldn't_ refuse.

Riddle presented to him that if he kept quiet, stayed loyal, he would be guaranteed a higher ranking. Then Riddle's eyes turned deadly and he told Christopher that if he saw in his mind that he even dared to imagine a _whisper_ of treason, he would make him _and_ his sister regret the day they ever set foot into Hogwarts.

He suddenly felt a hand land heavily on his shoulder. Abraxas stood still in his gesture, saying nothing. Whether it was a sign of kinsman ship or question, Riddle didn't know, but neither did he care. His eyes hardened as they trailed up to the shimmering moon high above the room.

"Do it," Riddle commanded firmly, his voice almost inaudible against the various sounds carrying throughout the room.

Abraxas nodded from behind him, letting his wand slide out of his sleeve and into his palm as he vanished from the Great Hall.

* * *

Hermione had been sitting alone for nearly half an hour. Her date had yet to return. She grew restless watching the couples sashay by, wishing that her nerves were as light as the fog that wafted around them. She had been asked by a few masked boys to dance, but she politely declined, deciding to wait on the serpentine boy she came with. She looked down at her half-eaten food. It began to look more and more unappetizing by the second, so she stood up and took her plate to the nearest trash can.

When she turned around, she saw a large figure looming over the crowd. Her heart skipped a beat momentarily in slight fear until she saw him tripping over the toes of some of the students, while mumbling "sorry" from behind his brown bear mask. She immediately smiled and dashed across the room.

"Hagrid!" Hermione stood off to the side, waving at the half-giant.

"Hermione? Oof—sorry!" Hagrid bumped into another student, sending the girl's punch sloshing to the floor. The girl scowled from behind her flamingo mask before allowing another student who had brought their wand to successfully vanish the liquid from the floor and her shoes.

"You look fantastic," Hermione said to him as he neared, gesturing to his outfit. He wore a patched, brown dress jacket and corduroy pants. He looked awkward among the more impeccably dressed students, but she had always admired Hagrid's own handiwork when it came to clothing. She also saw the nervousness in his eyes and hoped her compliment would help to alleviate it.

"Yer lookin' wonderful yerself, Hermione," he said bashfully behind his mask. "I've been lookin' fer Christopher. I haven't seen 'im this evenin'."

"Come to think of it, I haven't seen him either. He said he was supposed to be here with his date. He never told me who, though."

"That's odd. I believe he was a' comin' with Minerva," Hagrid said, puzzled.

"Minerva?" Hermione's brow furrowed behind her mask. "When I saw her earlier she was alone." She wondered why Christopher hadn't told her he was attending the ball with Minerva.

"Well, perhaps they're on the floor dancin' now." Hagrid looked over the crowd, his eyes squinting.

"Let's go find out. Do you care to dance with me, Hagrid? I promise I'll try not to trip you with my terrible skills." She extended her hand out to the half-giant. His eyes gleamed apprehensively, debating on whether or not he should accept. "Come on, it'll be fun! Besides, we can't do any worse than Avrin Callahan." She jerked her head in the direction of the dance floor where Avrin danced a sloppy jitterbug to the swinging music. Aviela tried to keep up, but was clearly not enjoying herself.

Hagrid's laughter boomed as he extended his crooked elbow to her.

Once on the dance floor, the students nearby gave her and Hagrid a wide berth. A stomp on the foot from Hagrid would surely result in a broken toe. Hermione made quick work to avoid sliding her feet under his own when they lifted. She caught Aviela's eye from across the room as the blond girl mouthed a silent plea, wincing as the boy she danced with flailed madly, nearly smacking her with every move. Hermione stifled a laugh as she shook her head and shrugged at the girl.

Thankfully the music eventually slowed and the couples were back to waltzing or slow dancing awkwardly-depending on the person. Her small hand was placed in Hagrid's large one as they swayed back and forth. He seemed uncomfortable in his steps, but Hermione had known enough to lead them, and encouraged Hagrid to loosen his shoulders. The half-giant eventually smiled and allowed her to teach him. She laughed with him as they talked and danced. She had nearly forgotten about her own missing date.

A girl in a tabby cat mask danced by with a boy in a wolf mask. _Christopher? _Hermione tried to catch Minerva's gaze by waving her down, but the Gryffindor's eyes were locked on the boy before her, her cheeks flushed pink. She held up a finger, signaling to Hagrid to wait a moment, as she made way to interrupt the dance to see if the wolf-masked boy was indeed Christopher. As she began to ease between dancing couples, a tall figure stepped in front of her line of sight.

"Miss Sivad, I was afraid I had lost you for the evening. Please forgive me for my absence and rudeness. I lost track of the time talking to some acquaintances of mine," the serpent-masked boy bowed to her. She looked over his shoulder as she watched Minerva twirl away with the wolf.

"It's quite alright. I've been dancing with a friend of mine," she looked over her shoulder to Hagrid who stood awkwardly as the dancers flowed around him, waiting on his partner to return.

"Ah, yes. Well, I am sure he wouldn't mind if I stole you away for a few moments for a dance would he?" He smiled charmingly down at her, his eyes dark eyes boring into hers. A chill graced her exposed shoulders.

"I suppose not," she said slowly as she studied Hagrid. She turned back and faced the young man. He stood before her, his hand—which was resting palm up—was held out to her. She slid her hand into his and he whisked her away into the crowd. Though Hermione couldn't see, Hagrid watched her dance away with concern written on his face, hidden behind the bear mask he wore.

The enigmatic young man danced with an unexpected grace, his hand holding her firmly with ease as he led them throughout the crowd. Every few moments he would stop their foot work to twirl her effortlessly before pulling her back to him. Every time, the sheer bronze material would float out behind her in a circle, reminiscent to ribbons twirled by children at a summer festival.

"Your dance skills are impressive," she complimented as he twirled her again.

"So I've been told." He seemed distracted as he watched the crowd around them. "Have you been enjoying your evening, Miss Sivad?"

She mulled over his question. Had she been enjoying herself? The easy answer was "yes," but something felt _off._ She had barely spent time with Aviela and Minerva, and she hadn't gotten to dance with Christopher. However, she still had visited with Hagrid and she had a handsome date who didn't step on her toes, either; her evening was nothing to turn her nose up at. However, something inside of her felt as though it were about to burst out any moment. A shadow loomed over her head and, moreover, she felt troubled because she couldn't understand _why._

"Miss Sivad?"

"I'm sorry," she blushed due to her wandering mind, "I've been having a wonderful time. Thank you for asking." She smiled at him.

A ghost with a tray swirled by with a set of goblets sitting atop its metallic surface. In one fluid movement, the young man twirled them around and secured a goblet from the specter, handing it to her as they halted dancing.

"To your wonderful time, Miss Sivad." He smiled to her, his dark eyes sparkling in the half-light. Her eyes narrowed slightly. _He seems so familiar…_

"To us," she held her goblet aloft and drank heartily, the liquid burning her throat as it went down.

* * *

She sat at a table, placing another empty goblet on its surface. She had never known apple cider to be so calming. She watched the blurry students on the dance floor move wildly in their animal masks. Some of the more rambunctious dancers had rolled their sleeves up, taken off their bow ties, and were dancing more closely to their dates—with goblets of their own still in hand. The chaperoning staff that walked about seemed to have no clue what to do about the ongoing situation. A laugh bubbled up from her lips as she leaned back lazily in her chair.

"Hermione, are you okay?" A tuxedoed wolf stood before her.

"Why wouldn't I be?" She waved him off with her hand as she sipped on the goblet she held in the other.

"Because you've had nearly four glasses of cider in the past hour."

"So what? It's just cider. It's pretty good, too. You should try some, wolf boy," she said, a slight slur in her words. The apple cider was pretty damn good, indeed; she had completely forgotten about her nerves. Hermione heard the young man behind the mask sigh heavily as he took the goblet from her and sat it on the far end of the table.

"Hey, I wasn't finished with that!" She sat up straighter and extended an arm in an attempt to secure the half-full goblet she had been working on from the edge of the table. The wolf immediately seized her wrist tightly. "Who do you think—?"

"Hermione, you need to get Aviela, Minnie, and Hagrid out of here," the voice said quietly from behind the mask.

"Wait—Chris, is that you?" Her eyes grew wide.

"Yes, and—" Christopher halted in his words as she reached and smacked him on the face, jostling his mask in the process.

"You prat! You promised me a dance, yet you've been avoiding me all evening," she spat at him. "Hagrid was looking for you also. What has been with you lately?"

Still taken aback from her physical outburst, he stammered as he spoke.

"I'm sorry—I've been busy with other acquaintances and…"

"Too busy to spend time with your friends?" She crossed her arms. She had no clue why she was so upset at him, but she still felt like he had deserved it for some reason.

"No, it's not like that, Hermione," he tried to explain, but he just sighed, pushing back his mask and revealing his face. His eyes harbored dark circles under them, and his face was pale. He looked exhausted. Her eyes immediately softened.

"Christopher… are you—"

"Hermione, listen to me, it's important. Please, can you do that for me?" He looked at her, his face serious. He didn't wait for her to respond as he grabbed both of her arms tightly. "I need you to get Aviela, Minerva, and Hagrid out of here."

"But why? We're all having a great time."

"Something isn't right, Hermione. I can't explain it to you right now—not here. The masquerade isn't safe anymore. I need you to go get them, then all of you need to go back to the common rooms. Convince them however you have to, _please_."

Hermione stared at him, her mouth hanging open slightly. His blurring face was pleading and he looked afraid. Christopher's eyes bore into hers as though they were trying to tell her something that his mouth couldn't say. She closed her mouth tightly and nodded to him in agreement if only to cease the haunting fear in his eyes.

"You need to go now. I saw Hagrid by the foyer, but you need to find Minerva and Aviela."

"Please, tell me what this is about, Christopher." She was almost begging him.

"I _can't._ Please, just trust me," he said in a quick, hushed tone as he looked around at the crowd, scanning the room for something or someone—a something or someone he didn't want to overhear them.

"Okay," she conceded. He immediately nodded and pulled his mask down, securing it to his face once more before disappearing into the crowd. Fear ran cold in her veins. She had known something wasn't right, and Christopher's actions had just proved it.

She stood, stumbling as she pushed in her chair. The room seemed to tilt with each step she took, but she fought the urge to sit down again. Her heartbeat fluttered quickly inside her chest and she felt lightheaded. The world turned around her, shifting with a groan that sounded like the hull of a ship settling on an uneasy ocean. Her hand rested on the side of her head, trying to dull the thrumming inside of it.

Hermione looked up at the bright light that shone brilliantly down upon her from the moon of the enchanted ceiling. She winced and averted her gaze as the intensity of it made her head throb even further. She looked down at her glowing, ivory skin and midnight colored dress that seemed to melt onto the floor around her in pools of silk. Between the low-rolling fogs, she saw the pearlescent floors sparkle with every speck of light that touched it.

A ghostly violin began crescendoing as it played a waltzing tune backed by a supportive orchestra. The partygoers in elaborate glittering gowns and pressed suits danced wildly—unfittingly—to the music. The tinkling laughter of a young female chimed in and the voice of young men chatting too-loudly drifted throughout the room. Goblets and glasses clinked together as they touched and each toe tapped on the dance floor was like a frenzied Morse code, sending a hidden message to her that she couldn't understand.

Hermione moved throughout the room, stumbling every few steps, until she stood in the throng of the party. The faces of a dozen animals swirled about her as they danced, tightly packed, on the floor. A white rabbit twirled a gowned mouse. _Aviela?_ Hermione made a step toward the pair, but her path was cut off by a suited frog graciously bowing to his feline counterpart before whisking her away. _Minerva?_ Hermione followed after them until she was blocked by a suited horse moving forward to embrace the peacock before him. Her eyes tried to follow them, but their movements were too fast, too erratic, and her glazed eyes couldn't keep up.

Despite the irregular movements of the animals, they seemed to float above the floor with each turnabout. A chill crept up her spine as she stole a glance at the wolf that waltzed by her. _Christopher._ She tried to get his attention, but when he turned his head, the mask held nothing but indefinite shadows where his eyes should have been. She huffed. She needed answers, not vague pleas. She tried to follow after him, but only found herself growing more anxious as the dancers around her seemed to move even faster. They moved so madly, it was as though they were becoming inhuman in their actions.

A pair of dancing gazelles bumped into her forcefully, sending her tumbling to the hard surface, partially shrouding her beneath the fog. Hermione's heart pounded as she scurried across the floor like a rat—dodging polished shoes and stomping heels. As she attempted to avoid a pair of legs on her right, a dancing duo slammed into her from the left, sending her sprawling to the floor once again.

Disoriented, Hermione struggled as she looked up; the light from above blinded her momentarily. Through the sashaying of long gowns and slender, black legs she saw a figure standing off the floor of the ballroom near the shadows. She focused on the observer as she tried calling out for help. She reached outward, only to have her hand crushed violently beneath the shoe of a stomping patron. Then with a grunt, she hefted herself forward despite the pain and crossed the room quickly; weaving herself in and out of the crowd the best she could while being tossed throughout the sea of wild things.

With a gasp Hermione broke through the horde of dancers and threw herself to the feet of the tall figure. She stood up shakily—stumbling before steadying herself—and looked up to face the serpent before her.

"Miss Sivad, are you all right?" She sighed, relieved to see a familiar face. He seemed to smile at her almost deviously, but she brushed it off as a trick of the light. Her feet felt heavy and her head too hot.

"Yeah, I'm fine, I think." She examined her reddening hand that a student had stepped on moments before, but it still fared better than her dress which now sported a few unforgiving tears. "Look, I need you help finding my friends. I… think they may be in trouble." She attempted to be careful in her words, heeding Christopher's plea.

He tilted his head, studying her with a smile that made her uneasy. He reached out to her, tucking a loose tendril of hair behind her ear and took her hand, slowly pulling her closer to him.

"I am sure they are fine, Miss Sivad. In fact, I believe I just saw them leave through the door not but moments ago. Come, we'll find them _together_."

She nodded in relief. She felt queasy and was more than ready to leave the masquerade with her friends in tow. The mysterious young man pulled her hand with a firm grip, leading her from the Great Hall and into the foyer.

Her eyes scanned the halls, but she saw no sign of Minerva or Aviela. She allowed the serpent to lead her down a hallway. Before they turned down another corridor, Hermione was sure she had seen a tall figure in a bear mask standing near the door. _Hagrid._ She attempted throwing a hand up at him, but they were moving quickly and he didn't see her. The passageway he pulled her down was dim, yet she followed him like a sheep being herded by a shepherd.

"Where are we going?" She watched as the back of his head turned and he flashed a darkened grin at her, the fang on his mask catching the light, causing it to glint at her from the shadows. Before she could ask him again, she was yanked behind a tapestry and into a hidden corridor. She stumbled into him.

The mysterious young man held her hand, steadying her. He then took his other hand and ran his fingers down her palm, then past her arm, and to her shoulder, drawing circles lazily in her flesh.

"You look so beautiful tonight, Hermione. I couldn't help but steal you away for a moment," he said to her in a low voice that made gooseflesh rise upon her skin. He continued his ministrations, dragging his slender fingers across her skin tenderly. She felt dazed and raised her silver eyes to meet his. Half-lidded, his dark eyes watched her curiously, a small smirk resting upon his lips.

"Thank you, but I really should go." Her words slurred a she eased away from him. She needed to find Aviela and Minerva. Something about this night wasn't right. She felt lightheaded and confused. She felt _drunk. _Then it hit her. _The drinks... Someone spiked the cider._ That explained why the masquerade had begun to get out of hand. Hermione was surprised that she was still standing upright even after guzzling nearly four glasses of the alcohol-laced drink. She considered the situation. Had the staff done anything to stop it yet? Did they even know? Hermione needed to tell someone. She immediately felt concerned for Aviela and her previously already-drunken date. And if Minerva did something outlandish, she knew that the Gryffindor would be mortified and wouldn't forgive herself easily. She stepped toward the tapestry.

"Please, don't go. Not yet. I've been looking forward to this night. Spending just a moment with you would make it _perfect_," he said thickly.

"But I need to..."

"But, you don't _have_ to." The alcohol thrummed in her blood with every word he spoke. She had nearly slipped out from beneath his fingers when he stepped toward her. In turn, Hermione stepped back, further and further until she felt the cold stone wall on her exposed back. She watched him with wide eyes, her breathing heavier than before, as he dipped his head low, slowly brushing his lips feather-light across her neck. Her breathing halted. She should've been in the common room with Aviela by now. She should've let her rational side take over. But instead she stood meer inches from the mysterious young man, feeling like they weren't nearly close _enough. _He brushed his lips against her neck again, his breath heating her skin. In that moment, she let all inhibitions go. She hadn't felt as carefree as she had standing in that corridor with the stranger who gave her his undivided attention. She had let her concerns and priorities take over until they often left her sick with worry. She had nearly forgotten what it was like to feel reckless and unbound by obligations, expectations, and promises. The last time she had felt such a way was when she had helped Harry form Dumbledore's Army and fought back against Dolores Umbridge in their fifth year. It was liberating, and in this corridor, she felt liberated once more. Christopher would be furious with her, but in that moment, she didn't give a damn. She deserved a good snogging after all the hell she had been put through.

The darkling pulled back and looked at her, his eyes glinting from behind his mask. His hands slowly reached up behind her head and pulled loose the black silken ribbons that held her bronze eagle mask in place. Withdrawing the mask from her face, he seemed to study her intently, his held cocking to the side.

Hermione's heart beat erratically and her senses heightened under his gaze. She couldn't tell if the spine-tingling feelings she felt was from fear, confusion, or the fact that she didn't mind the admirations of this stranger, but regardless she didn't mind it. He held the mask in one hand as he trailed a finger from the nape of her neck down to the exposed, milky flesh of her back before running it back up again. A sigh of contentment escaped her lips; she felt as though she were in a trance-like state. He dipped his head toward her, his breath serving to warm her already flushed face.

"Wait... What about your mask?" She halted him. He chuckled deeply.

"Ah, but that would ruin the surprise, wouldn't it?" The stranger let a hand slide around her waist as he gripped her tightly. _Surprise? _Their eyes met for a brief moment. _Those dark eyes…_ _I've seen them before tonight... Wait, it couldn't be... could it...?__  
_

Then he kissed her, and all thoughts were lost. His lips danced against hers like a breeze, moving gently, expertly. Though she had anticipated the gesture, her eyes were still opened wide in shock of his abruptness. She found herself responding to the stranger as her eyes closed and her hand slid up his chest. He deepened the kiss, causing the hair on her arms to rise and her face to warm. His hand moved from her waist, up her side, and across her arm, until his fingers came to rest on her neck and in the part of her hair that was falling from the once neatly coiled bun it was in. Everything in her tingled and warmed as he continued to kiss her. She heard the metallic sound that formed from her mask clattering to the stone floor, but she didn't care and instead she moved another arm up to rest on his sturdy shoulder.

She didn't see when his hand let go of the mask and reached into his pocket. She didn't see when he withdrew his wand and pointed it to her temple. She only heard the words "_nunc somnis" _whispered against her bruised lips before she felt herself go slack, and crumple slowly to the ground, his hand guiding her head.

She opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn't muster her voice. She saw the serpent mask of the mysterious man float down to the ground before her like it was weightless. The heat that had once been coursing through her veins turned to ice. Hermione's mind immediately went to her friends. She had failed them, and now she didn't know what would become of her. Confusion and fear crept into her, quickly replacing the stranger's charm that had once befuddled her mind. She fought the tiredness that settled into her bones as she turned to look up at him. His face was shrouded in the dark, but she could feel his eyes watching her before he walked away. Hermione then felt a pair of strong arms lift her up, cradling her close.

"Wait… tell them…" Hermione tried to stay awake, but as her arm fell off to the side, she felt herself being whisked away into the night. She succumbed to the darkness that plagued her.

Her dreams were vivid, weaving together a story of a girl who was on a mission. In her dream, the girl picked up the stranger's serpent mask and put it on. When she wore it, the mask granted her the ability to control a thousand whispering voices at once. She chose to silence them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! It was a hot mess of a whirlwind, but this chapter was a blast to write. What did you all think of the end? Please don't hate me too much for it!
> 
> Feel free to leave a kudos, comment your thoughts, and follow along. I'll be back with another chapter very soon! <3


	23. The Age of Gods and Kings: Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Nyoka make a vow to one another. Riddle's plan is set into motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to get this chapter up! This past week has been crazy, but today has offered a lot of good food and relaxation. Thank you to those who made well wishes for me to get better. I am finally over my sickness! To those of you who celebrate in the US: Happy Thanksgiving! If you aren't in the US or don't celebrate, I hope you had a good day and have a better weekend coming up! :)
> 
> This chapter is a two-parter and I will get the next one up by tomorrow! We are only a few chapters away (3) from being caught up to my current chapter! Woo-hoo!
> 
> Anywho, hope ya'll enjoy this chapter!
> 
> **Not all Pottermore, Fantastic Beasts, and Cursed Child content is included in this story--this is AU, please be aware.**

She could hear the crackling of a fire nearby. The hair on her arms stood on end, reaching out toward the fire as chills raked over her. Unnatural. She tried to open her eyes, but each time she caught a glimpse of the soft glow in the room, her eyelids drooped shut again—insistent on blocking out the light.

"_Wake up, Hermione. He's on the move_," a voice tugged at her ears from a distance. "_You must wake. They are all in danger_."

"Danger?" her voice was broken, and her throat burned.

" _This is what you've been preparing yourself for—what we've been waiting for _."

Hermione tried to make sense of the words the man was saying to her, but she didn't understand. She was tired and sore. Her mind kept telling her to sleep. Her body agreed and urged her to rest, but her heart thudded in her chest, fighting the exhaustion. Her fingers twitched involuntarily with each heartbeat, rushing blood to their icy tips.

"_Hermione, please, you must move_," the male voice pleaded to her again, straining more and more with each word.

"But… I'm so tired." She attempted to openher eyes again, but they only flittered before closing.

"_Hermione—_" The man stopped suddenly. She could still sense his presence, but he was quiet and his essence unmoving. In the distance she heard another whisper. It was deeper, rougher. Hermione strained her ears, attempting to listen over the sound of her thrumming heart. The voice grew closer. She felt a pull in her chest; it was nearby. She felt the need to go to the voice, to meet it halfway, and greet it.

The voice disturbed the silence, becoming clear. When it whispered, she could've sworn the being was right by her side.

"_Kill_."

Her eyes flew open and she jerked upright.

"The basilisk!" She was brought back to reality with a jolt. The room felt too hot, but chills overtook her body. Her head pounded unmercifully and the foul taste in her mouth was akin rotting apples. A sense of nausea filled her throat and nose. Hermione's breathing was labored as she tried to will herself not to vomit on the common room floor. She never thought she would have to actually face the basilisk. She had hoped she could convince Riddle not to go through with his schemes somehow, but even she knew she had never gotten close enough to him to make a difference. Now, it was too late.

" _Fickle humans, flock and feast, for you are the prey and I am the beast _," the basilisk hissed in a slow, sing-song voice. She could hear its scaly body dragging through the sewage system hidden behind the stone walls underneath the Ravenclaw tower. She knew the sewage systems didn't run throughout the tower, but the basilisk's voice poured in from all sides, cutting through the silent common room. She couldn't help fear the possibility that the deadly serpent Herpo the Fowl brought forth thousands of years ago would hunt her down in her isolation for an easy meal.

" _Herpo the Fowl, my kin knew him by name; they were the oldest, the first, and I, the very same _," it hissed, almost as if it had read her mind.

Hermione swallowed, but the heaviness in her throat didn't leave. She knew she should get up and do something, but she couldn't move. She felt as though she had already been petrified as fear gripped her.

"_A gift to the king of the ambitious house;_  
_a chicken; a toad; and, the feast, a mouse. _  
_The beast was the one that was hidden below,_  
_what Slytherin reaped all shall know_ ."

She stared into the fire. She remembered everything: the spiked cider, Christopher telling her to leave the party, Hagrid standing in the foyer, and Riddle. How had she not seen it before? He must've concealed himself with a shroud of magic—an illusion of some kind—but she felt stupid. She had danced with the devil, feasted with him, and desired his touch.

She remembered how soft his lips felt against her own, and against the hollow of her throat. She remembered how his fingers traced her skin tenderly, almost endearingly, and how she loved every second of it. Hermione reached up her hand and rubbed her neck. Her stomach rolled. She felt like a fine layer of scum rested on every part of her that he had touched.

She could hear the whispering of the basilisk retreating, vanishing in the distance. She pushed herself up, swinging her legs over the couch until her feet touched the floor. Hermione looked down at her tattered dress. She wiggled the toes on her left foot that had long since been freed from her shoe that was nowhere in sight. Her eyes stung as tears threatened to form.

A jolt of pain sparked in her temples, causing her to double over on the edge of the couch. She winced, cradling her head in her hands. Hermione could hear a mumbling in the back of her mind, forcing its way through. It called to her by name. She feared it was the basilisk and pushed back harder against the force. Her vision grew splotchy and began to fade. Unable to withstand the fight, she let the guard she kept on her mind drop. Her head tingled from the sudden cease in pressure and tension.

"_Why must you always fight me with such vigor_?" The voice sounded exhausted.

"I don't take kindly to invasions of my personal space," she ground out angrily to the empty room. "Who are you?"

" _Oh, come now, Hermione. Haven't you figured it out by now? I have contacted you in the past, yet you still question who I am. It's a bit embarrassing on your behalf _."

"Alphard…? Is that really you?" Hermione asked.

"_Who else would it be?_" Alphard taunted.

"I've been hearing voices for longer than I care to admit," Hermione sighed and wiped at the sparse tears that had gathered in her eyes.

"_Hermione, the basilisk…_" he began.

"I know. What am I supposed to do?" She felt sick again.

"_You have to stop it_," he said.

Hermione barked a cruel laugh between sniffles.

"Do you really think I could stop a basilisk? Especially against Tom Riddle? He probably had this whole thing orchestrated and placed me here in the tower to save me for last."

" _Do you honestly think I, a son of Slytherin himself, would leave you defenseless? You can speak to serpents can you not _?" Alphard asked her sharply.

"Just because I can talk to them doesn't mean I can control them," Hermione said.

"_Have you ever attempted a command to your familiar_?"

Hermione pondered his question. She always had firm debates with her serpentine familiar, Nyoka, but she never had issued a true command—then again, Nyoka had never went against her suggestions either.

" _You are just as good of a match against Riddle, Hermione. You are the closest thing to an equal he has, and I believe he is quickly learning that _."

"I'm no match for him," Hermione scoffed. "I am certainly not his equal either. I am not a killer."

"_And neither is he, Hermione. Not yet_," Alphard's voice pleaded with her, begging her to have faith in herself—and possibly in Riddle.

"What do you think his intentions are, Alphard? He doesn't plan to teach the beast how to box step. He plans to use it to harm muggleborns—to carry out his own version of justice based on Slytherin's cruel ideals."

" _His intentions are clear, but he still isn't Salazar Slytherin. He isn't my fathe _r," Alphard said, grimness lacing his ethereal voice.

"No, he's worse." Alphard sighed again. "How are you reaching me, anyway?"

" _We are connected in unnatural ways, Hermione. The dark magic I used bound us together in spirit and blood. Part of me lives within you, and it's that part of me that can reach you. I've tried tapping into your mind numerous times, I've sent you dreams and visions—but I sense something other than I invading your mind, something much akin to that of divination. I am not sure if it is related to your being from the future, but it is possible _."

She considered his perspective as she had experienced a sense of déjà vu as of late. Hermione had always believed divination to be a foolish bit of trickery to entertain unwed women, and yet the prophecy had been true enough for Dumbledore to place his faith in it. Hermione had woken many times from strange dreams, but she could scarcely remember them. She hoped the supposed inklings of the future would fade; the last thing she wanted was to become a mockery like Trelawney.

"What do I do?" she asked Alphard.

" _It's not what you do, but what you are capable of doing. Hermione, I know very little of Tom Riddle other than he is a pawn in Slytherin's greater ambitions. I am not entirely sure what his personal motivations are or what he is capable of, but what I do know is that he's still young. He still has a strong mind, a willing spirit, and a heart. It might not be his redemption, but it's certainly not a vice _."

"So you're telling me to have a heart to heart with the future dark lord?"

" _I am telling you to do what is necessary to stop him, but to remember that he is still human. He knows pain and suffering just as well as you or I, Hermione. We are all victims of circumstance, but that doesn't mean we can't change our course _," Alphard said.

"What if he won't listen to reason?" Hermione asked.

"_Stop the basilisk first, then stop him_," Alphard's voice was grim. She didn't know if Alphard meant she should kill Riddle, but she didn't want to. There had to be another way. She would not become him.

" _If you have a choice, then choose wisely—if not, you know what you must do _," he said. She felt Alphard's presence fade from her mind. The dull throbbing from her imminent hangover returned. She knew that the longer she sat idle the closer the danger was to the students. However, she didn't want to charge headlong into the possible danger; she needed to strategize. She scoffed. Strategizing. How could she strategize for something like this? Especially alone. No, she would do this her way. The Gryffindor way. She hated to rush into things, but it was a choice of rushing into them, or them rushing at her. When push came to shove, Hermione would shove back. She only hoped that she would be strong enough to knock Riddle off his feet.

She stood and darted up the stairs to her dorm, leaving a sole, glittering shoe behind by the crackling hearth. If she went into battle, she would do so on even footing and stand firm for herself and all of the Wizarding World.

Hermione burst through the door of her and Aviela's shared dormitory. Frantic, she called out for Nyoka and searched within the cracks and crevices under the beds, behind the wardrobe, and inside their trunks. She hoped that the small serpent chose to hunt instead of go after the beckoning of the beast. The pull Hermione felt to the basilisk was immense, it was no doubt that Nyoka would sense the creature.

_We seek each other out_ , Nyoka had said.

She regretted not keeping the serpent with her more. Hermione pictured the basilisk slurping Nyoka down as though she were a spaghetti noodle with Nyoka's tail flicking outward and smacking the slimy lips of the larger creature. She shuddered as she reached into her wardrobe and pulled out a pair of jeans. Unfurling them, Hermione took off her torn dress and slid on a wrinkled woolen skirt and jumper she had scooped up in haste from the floor of her room. She scrambled around for her loafers but found them nowhere in sight. Instead, she threw open her trunk and dug deep to the bottom until she found the pair of white trainers she had brought back with her. She pulled before them on and shoved the laces into the sides, not bothering to tie them.

She dropped onto her knees and looked under her bed, searching for the serpent. Nyoka was her one and only companion who knew of her personal situation aside from Alphard. After all, it was Nyoka who had made the journey with her back in time. She didn't want to see her harmed. Hermione couldn't help but feel as though she had taken the serpent's friendship—or whatever it was—for granted.

"Nyoka! Where are you? Come back," she called out. What if Nyoka had followed after the basilisk? She stood, readying herself to meet whatever was to come, when the snake slithered from the crevice in the wall. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.

"Nyoka, I thought you had ran off," she said to the snake.

"S _lithered, you mean? I was wandering after the voice I've been hearing, until I heard you beckon me, Miss Hermione _," Nyoka said.

"Nyoka, you should know better than to go off like that. What if someone saw you?"

" _Someone wouldn't see me within the walls, Miss Hermione, I know you are aware of that. You're worries are greater than that of someone simply spotting me. We both know that it is the voice that is concerning you _." Logical, observing, and ever perceptive, Nyoka made the perfect companion for Hermione Jean Granger. Nyoka held a greater intelligence and intuition than any animal Hermione had met, though she couldn't help but wonder what Crookshanks would have to say if they could speak freely with one another just the same.

"Do you know what the voice is, Nyoka?" Hermione asked, her voice slow.

" _It's of my own blood, but not quite the same, Miss Hermione. My kind has told stories for generations of great, booming voices that call to us, but I believed it to be just folly _," Nyoka said.

"And what do you believe now?"

"_That the legends were more than just folly, Miss Hermione_."

"Were you following the voice? Were you answering the call?" Hermione was nervous. What if Nyoka answered to the basilisk first and second to her? Under Riddle's rule, the basilisk would surely try to kill Hermione, and Nyoka may feel inclined to do just the same.

" _We seek because we want knowledge, to understand, and to fulfill what we believe to be our duty to a higher caliber of serpent. We would present ourselves in great numbers—the eldest were always said to go first, providing ourselves as sustenance _," Nyoka hissed.

"Other serpents would give themselves up to the basilisk willingly as a meal?" Hermione gaped at the dark green snake that swayed in the corner of the room.

" _There is no greater honor for a land serpent than to provide life to that of a god _," Nyoka said.

"A god? Your kind believe the basilisk to be a god?" Hermione never knew that the culture of serpents ran so deep.

" _The Great Serpent is revered and stands as a symbol of the height of our kind _," Nyoka hissed.

Hermione was reeling. It all made sense as to how the basilisk was able to survive for so long underneath the bowels of Hogwarts for so many years. She knew it wasn't logical that the basilisk lived solely on small rats that scurried below the castle. For ages, serpents of the Earth would make a pilgrimage to become a sacrifice to the basilisk, to sustain it, to keep their god alive.

"And you believe the basilisk is your god? Were you following the voice as to fulfill the task your people have taken on?" Hermione's mouth was dry. She feared what Nyoka would say to her.

" _I harbor many beliefs, Miss Hermione, but none of them have proven to be true. How can I believe the Great Serpent is a god when it can be controlled by man? A god can be controlled by no one. I wouldn't offer myself up to something lesser than a go _d," Nyoka hissed, slithering up the wooden pole of Aviela's four-post bed. Nyoka entwined herself around the carved post until she was eye level with Hermione.

" _A god cannot be controlled. A god can be ruthless, merciful, and sustains oneself without the heed of its people. The Great Serpent is not a god, Miss Hermione. The Great Serpent answers to the speakers. If it can be controlled by them, then it isn't a god, but the one of which the Great Serpent answers to is. There's a young man the Great Serpent beckons to like a humbled servant. He speaks to my blood just as you do Hermione. The Great Serpent is nothing more than an honored King of Serpents. _

" _The world was once fraught with gods—or speakers—twisting their tongues to call to us, but that age passed long ago. Once there were gods coexisting as equals, partners, and lovers, creating new generations of gods with each coupling—but the world isn't what it once was _," Nyoka hissed. Hermione stared into the serpent's beady eyes, her breathing uneven.

"And what happens when there are few gods left, Miss Hermione?"

Hermione shook her head not knowing, and not trusting herself to speak.

" _They either create the next generation of gods or they attempt to kill one another and hope to attain immortality by any means necessary. A god is useless unless he or she can stay alive, _" Nyoka hissed. " _My kind may worship the Great Serpent, but our faith has been placed in the wrong idol. For what is a thousand-year king to a god? _"

Hermione's mouth was agape. Did Tom Riddle truly wish to form horcruxes and purge the world of muggleborns and muggles as to act out with godlike power? Did he desire to live forever as a way of being the last parselmouth, a living god to serpents and people alike? Did Salazar Slytherin's ambitions go beyond that of educational segregation to the creation of a supreme race ruled under a single god for his namesake? She found herself feeling angry at Nyoka for not telling her these things, but at the same time she blamed herself just the same for not knowing.

"Will you go to him them? Tom Riddle? Will you follow him now?"

" _If there are two supposed gods that I may decide from to serve, why would I choose to be a follower when I could be an equal, Miss Hermione _?"

A smile crept onto Hermione's face as relief washed through her. She reached out and stroked the shiny scales of the serpent's head. Nyoka didn't see parselmouths as gods, but as companions, leaders and guides of this vast world. As it should be. Hermione didn't wish to reign over any creature—human or otherwise.

"Thank you, Nyoka. Your companionship is something I won't take for granted," Hermione said.

"_I shall hold your word to it, Miss Hermione,_" Nyoka said as she unwound herself from the pole of the bed and down onto the wooden floor. "I _f you are to face the Great Serpent and its master, then I shall come with you _."

"What if Riddle tries to control you?"

" _Then order me not to obey. It is that simple. A command can be given and not be wrongful, Miss Hermione. Order me to be your familiar, and I shall be so until the end of our days or the breaking of your words that have bound us, _" Nyoka hissed. Hermione didn't like the idea of commanding Nyoka to do anything outside of her free will, but the idea of Riddle taking control over her would surely lead to a worse fate for the serpent.

"Nyoka, I ask—command you to be my familiar—my companion—in this life. No paselmouth may have reign over you—and from this point on, neither shall I. We continue on together by choice, not by force. I ask this of you until the end of our days or the breaking of my words that have bound us," Hermione spoke her hisses to Nyoka. Her lips tingled at the whispers that danced from her tongue. Magic. It was more than just speech and choice but magic that bound them now. Hermione was prideful to have Nyoka formally on her side, but feared Riddle could do the same with the basilisk.

Nyoka bowed her head low to Hermione upon their agreement, in honor.

"Nyoka, could Riddle possibly do the same with the basilisk? Binding himself to it as his familiar?"

" _I am unsure, Miss Hermione. I would hope to believe otherwise, but the prospects are grim _," Nyoka's voice was solemn. Hermione reached into her trunk and pulled out her satchel. Casting a charm on the bag to make it both larger on the inside, she reached out to Nyoka, gripping her gently and lowering her into the bag. She secured the buckle of the bag and threw it across her body.

"_Miss Hermione_," a soft hiss emanated from the bag, " _if our bonds are to break today and the end of our days to come, then I am glad to have been a friend to you. _"

Hermione snatched her wand from the vanity nearby and opened the door.

"I feel the very same, Nyoka." She breathed deeply and left the dormitory.

* * *

Hermione raced through the hallway. She passed a few students who were massaging their temples, nursing headaches from the alcohol, or were stumbling back to their respective common rooms to continue the party. She was thankful to see that some of the students had decided to leave the masquerade; it meant one less person for her to worry about protecting. She felt an arm grab her, roughly jerking her to stop. Hermione's hand immediately moved toward the wand tucked within the waist band of her skirt. She locked eyes with Aviela. The blond witch eyed her curiously as Hermione's hand froze on the grip of her wand.

"Hermione, where in Merlin's name are you going? Most importantly, what are you _wearing_?" Aviela nodded to the unusual white trainers with black stripes running across the tops. "I like it. Is that Parisian style?"

"Just some something I brought with me from home," Hermione rambled off, attempting to slip her arm from Aviela's grip. "Are you going back to the common room? Where's Minnie? And Hagrid? And Chris? Where are they? Are they still at the ball?"

"Slow down, Sivad. What's going on? Why did you leave so early?" Aviela's smiled faded.

"Is the masquerade still going on? I need to know where they are. Can you pleasejust tell me?" Hermione was frazzled and borderline begging. She needed to know if they were safe.

"The party is winding down mostly. The professors said they found firewhiskey in a few of the punch bowls. They are shutting down the masquerade early," Aviela's voice turned harsh. She was angry. Her hard work for the event was sabotaged by troublemakers. "The faculty and staff are trying to stop the party, but some of the students are too drunk or too careless to listen and won't leave the dance floor."

"And what of our friends?" Hermione pressed for an answer.

"Minerva left some time ago. During the ball, she told me she felt off. Being suspicious of the punch, she alerted Headmaster Dippet. I never even had the chance to enjoy the buffet. I was too busy reigning in Callahan all evening. Minerva was kind enough to forcefully escort my lovelydate back to the Gryffindor common room with her," she said sarcastically. Avrin Callahan, Gryffindor's quidditch captain, had been Aviela's date for the evening. He had shown up to the masquerade already buzzed. "Callahan also verified the headmaster's concerns over the punch when he vomited all over Horace Slughorn's tail coat."

"So Minerva is back in the Gryffindor common room?"

"Yes, Hermione. It's just a little firewhiskey, why are you so stressed?" Aviela tilted her head to the side.

"Are you going back to the Ravenclaw tower?" Hermione was already stepping past Aviela.

"Yes, but I'm not sure about Chris. I haven't seen him all evening. Hagrid went looking for him."

_Hagrid_ . Hermione needed to find him, fast. She knew that Christopher had been onto Riddle from the start. How, she didn't know, but she knew that he would steer clear of the Slytherin heir—or at least she hoped he would. However, if harm came to Hagrid, she could never forgive herself.

"I'll go find them. Just—just get back to the common room and stay there until Christopher and I get back. It's not safe to be out."

"Everything will be fine, Hermione. Stop worrying so much! If it isn't safe then shouldn't we go look for them together?" Aviela looked at her with suspicion. Hermione wasn't sure of what to say to the Goldstein twin. What couldshe say? Tom Riddle, heir of Slytherin, had found a giant serpent in the underbelly of Hogwarts and was hell-bent on taking revenge based upon Salazar's wicked manifesto? Certainly not that.

"Sorry, Aviela, I'm probably just feeling a little paranoid after downing some of the alcohol. I care about each of you and I want to see to it that everyone is safe. Because I am in the right mind and able, I figured I could offer some assistance to the staff." None of it was a lie, but it was far cry from the truth.

"If you say so, Hermione. Don't be surprised if Dumbledore sends you back to the tower. He was ushering the students quickly to their dormitories and instructing the, to stay put."

Dumbledore. A man who had no means of divination, yet still sensed the impending darkness. He had been clear that he was willing to help her with anything she may need—within reason—but even then, Hermione knew she couldn't ask this of him. He was smart and intuitive, and it served him well, but it would go against the rules to tell him of what's to come. But wasn't she already breaking the rules by trying to stop Riddle in the first place? Her head throbbed and she touched it softly with her fingertips. She could almost sense Alphard Corvus tapping his foot impatiently, spying on the inside of her mind. If she didn't get moving, she knew he would not hesitate to intrude her thoughts.

"Thanks, Aviela. I'll be back soon, just stay in the tower!" Hermione was already jogging. When she rounded the corner and into an empty corridor, she took off in a full sprint. Dhe allowed adrenaline to fuel each step she took. First, she would check by the Great Hall. If Christopher and Hagrid weren't there, she would search until she found them. Once they were located and safe, she would hunt Riddle down and end it all—by whatever means necessary.

Stupid, Tom Riddle. Don't you know that Slytherin is playing you for a fool even from the grave?Hermione cursed Riddle over and over again, calling him by every muggle and wizard curse she could think of. She knew it wasn't his fault. The circumstances, the childhood, the lineage—Salazar Slytherin had a master plan. How he had made it work thus far, she didn't know, but something deep inside told her that Grindelwald wasn't innocent either; his endeavors were reminiscent of Slytherin's.

Hermione remembered reading up on the war and of Grindelwald's ultimate defeat at the hands of none other than Albus Dumbledore, future Headmaster of Hogwarts. The exact details of it all were sketchy at best, but even still, she believed Dumbledore had regrets. From what she could understand, they had once known each other. Maybe they had even been close.

At present, the wars raged on—all of them. Grindelwald's against the Wizarding World, the Third Reich's against humanity, and her own internal struggles that were so very insignificant in the greater scope of things. Death had already encased the world in an iron grip, and Hermione only hoped that she could prevent, at the very least, one more life from being taken tonight.

Hermione reached the foyer of the school. Each member of the Hogwarts faculty stood outside of the Great Hall. Even the staff members who didn't chaperone the dance were there, standing about in night gowns and robes, their conversations creating a hum that resonated throughout the castle. Dippet wrung his hands nervously, no doubt worrying about how he was going to address the issue to parents and the public. Slughorn chastised a Slytherin boy, but not as harshly as he did the Gryffindor girl he moved onto next. Some of the ghosts who served as waiters were recounting who they saw nearest the punch bowl right before the first symptoms of drunkenness were reported. The head girl and boy were present, both looking worse for wear. Hermione had no doubt that they had partaken in many glasses of spiked cider. Dumbledore stood off to the side, directing students to return to their dorms. His posture was stiff and his eyes were as alert as ever, twinkling fiercely in the torchlight.

"Miss Sivad? What on earth are you doing here?" Slughorn hobbled toward her.

"Professor Slughorn," she nodded to him in recognition. "I came back to see if any assistance was needed in handling the masquerade."

"The remaining students are being taken care of as we speak, therefore I believe it would be best for you to return back to your dorm for the evening."

"I see. I would love to, professor, but I must find my friends. I've been worried sick about them," Hermione attempted to prey on his sense of honor.

"I am sure they are fine, Miss Sivad. We have directed each remaining student to where they need to go. If they are not in the common rooms, they are in the infirmary and you can visit them tomorrow morning, I'm sure. Now, run along!" He guided her by the arm toward the hallway of which she had just came from. Hermione felt panic rise in her throat, so she formed a lie on the spot.

"But, professor, I can't." Hermione turned to him, feigning desperation in her eyes. Slughorn had always been a bit of a pushover, she only hoped he would believe her false testimony. "You see, the person I am looking for is Christopher Goldstein. Do you know of him?"

"Ah, yes. The Goldstein twin, Aviela's brother, correct? Seventh year, as well. I regret not inviting him to the club. He was ever so shy, but he seems to have branched out and made some decent friends." Hermione's brow furrowed. Friends? The only friends she could think of were the ones that Slughorn probably couldn't even name due to lack of ever acknowledging their existence.

"What do you mean, professor?"

"Why, he has been in the company of Tom and the Malfoy boy for the past month or so. They seem to have taken him under their wing. The Goldstein boy could definitely use some guidance from his peers," Slughorn laughed. Hermione's stomach twisted. What has Christopher been doing with Riddle and Abraxas? She had noticed him absent more than usual, but she hadn't really thought anything of it.

"Has he really made friends with them, then?" Hermione ground her words out carefully.

"Oh, yes. I would like to think so at least. Tom, Malfoy, and their crew have taken him in quite well. It's a very generous thing, don't you agree? The boy could use some connections." Slughorn winked down at her. She took note of how endearingly he used Riddle's first name, yet formally referred to Abraxas as "Malfoy." It wasn't a group of kinsman-ship like Slughorn believed. They were the Knights of Walpurgis.

Then, it all became clear as the fog in her mind vanished like rising vapor. The masquerade, the spiked cider, Christopher's absence, the awakened basilisk—it was orchestrated, all of it.

The masquerade was the perfect excuse for Riddle's first strike. The spiked cider hadn't been caused by a group of rowdy Gryffindor boys; it was the work of the Knights under Riddle's command. Having the student body drunk and wild would only make his…chase more interesting, no doubt. The awakened basilisk, the ultimate means to an end. Hermione chewed the inside of her cheek. She didn't want to think about what Christopher's absence meant. Fear, uncertainty, and anger flooded her veins. She only knew she would find her answers when she found them. Had he willingly helped aid Riddle in commencing one of the darkest days Hogwarts would ever face? Or was he a victim or Riddle's coercion like everyone else?

"Why is it so imperative that you find him again, my dear?" Slughorn asked with curiosity. The gears in Hermione's mind began turning, fabricating a story that would capture his interest enough to let her go.

"You see, professor, I fancy him. I have since I first arrived. However, to my dismay, it has been unrequited thus far. I returned back to the common room early in hopes to wait for him when the masquerade began to get out of hand. I've been waiting since then and he hasn't shown. I fear he may have lost track of time trying to assist in the aftermath. I was told that he had been helping to guide students to the Gryffindor common room and is keeping watch beside the portrait of the Fat Lady. Professor, this may be my only chance to tell him properly how I feel. With the heightened rush of the evening and the excitement, I feel like the odds may be in my favor so much that Liquid Luck could never suffice as a replacement for this night. May I find him and confess my feelings to him? I know I may be young, but what am I to do when faced with true love?" Hermione prattled off the sickeningly sweet words. She was sure she had skimmed a _Witches Romance_ book and read the same exact lines before—skimmed, not read, she affirmed within herself.

Slughorn pulled a raggedy, spotted handkerchief from his dress robes and dabbed the cloth at the edges of his eyes, drying up the moisture pooling within them. Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes; Slughorn had always been one for dramatics. With his status as Potions Professor at Hogwarts, she didn't doubt for a second that the Liquid Luck line hooked him.

"Oh, how I remember unrequited, young love indeed. Miss Sivad, chase your dreams and follow your heart while you can. You may go seek out the Goldstein boy." He reached down and grasped her hands firmly in his. His eyes shone with tears. "I give you my best of wishes, my dear. Now, go before old Dumbledore quashes your hopes by sending you back to your room!" He whispered to her urgently before escorting her around the foyer and to the edge of the crowd, nudging her toward the corridor. He coughed and casted a disillusionment charm over her before pulling Dumbledore aside, distracting him by asking if the cider had been spiked with aged, top-shelf firewhiskey. If so, he kindly offered in between chuckles to take the remaining bottles found and find them a new home in his own personal cellar. Dumbledore did not laugh.

Hermione shook her head at the round man with the curling mustache. Slughorn's tactics with Dumbeldore proved Slytherin, through and through; even in a situation like this, the first thing he thought of was his own gains. However, in the end, it was for her own just as well. She wandlessly casted a silencing spell around her, and took off in a sprint toward the Gryffindor dorms.

He prowled, his feet barely making a sound on the wet flagstone floor below. He clutched a black, leather bound journal in hand. Holding the diary, he stroked the metal etching on the back with his index finger. The shining words read, "Tom Marvolo Riddle." In his other hand, he grasped a serpent mask.

He held it aloft, examining it as the scales glittered in the half-light. A low hissed rushed past his lips, breaking the silence and echoing off the sodden walls of the secret place below Hogwarts. He tilted his head and listened, still studying the mask. He heard the heavy grinding of stone against stone, then something else gliding across their surfaces. In his peripheral vision, he saw the shallow water moving in wide ripples, disturbed from its calm. He felt something deep within him pull toward the creature, reaching out, calling.

His widening grin was overcast by shadow as the king of serpents rose behind him, waiting for his master's command.


	24. The Age of Gods and Kings: Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riddle is plagued by dark memories. Friends are reunited temporarily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday, folks! Thanks for being awesome and for reading my crazy story. We are almost caught up to pace! Feel free to click on my profile and follow my Tumblr for this fanfic. I post updates and plan to post sneak peeks in the future. Happy reading!
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this deeper dive into Riddle's memories.
> 
> **Not all Pottermore, Fantastic Beasts, and Cursed Child content is included in this story--this is AU, please be aware.**

Maybe he would take a victim at a time? Slowly, unexpectedly. Or, perhaps he would barricade the Gryffindor students in their common room and watch from atop the stairs inside, witnessing a climax of chaos. He had little care if pureblood Gryffindors got in his way, he would cut them down just the same if they did.

His blood rushed and his heart pounded with exhilaration and excitement. His hair was neat and his masquerade robes were adjusted with obsessive care. Not only did Riddle want the night to be perfect, but he wanted himself to embody perfection just the same. And he did. He was the wielder of an angelic face and a demon's grace. Riddle's hands twitched, aching to point the monster in the proper direction and give his command. He would give Hogwart's a night it wouldn't soon forget. The walls have cried out for justice and soon he would deliver.

Everything had went according to plan—even with Goldstein's reluctance. After he ordered Abraxas to add a potion mixture to his drink to make the Ravenclaw boy more agreeable, the night had progressed flawlessly. He toyed with the latch on the diary until it opened, and he flipped through the pages rapidly. Inside his memories and musings lay upon the parchment, imprinted with striking black ink that was etched with precision. He had been given the diary during his first year at Hogwarts and kept it close.

Riddle's thumb caught on one of the pages near the beginning of the book. He pushed it open, eager to see what words from his past would connect to his current destiny. What prophetical wisdom or affirmations awaited him?

His eyes skimmed the rough cursive on the page. Riddle noted how shakily his letters looped and attempted to connect, but always remained in a strict line—never slanting upward or downward on the page like many children tended to do. His scrawl was reflective of an entry penned shortly after his arrival to Hogwarts, detailing the wonders of Hogwarts in comparison to the cruelty he endured at his "home" prior to Hogwarts.

Thoughts of the orphanage flooded his mind. His eyes closed and his mouth twitched downward in a tight line. He had been playing outside behind the rundown built-on, Victorian home when he remembered his first encounter with the caretakers. They had found him drawing crude figures—a farmer and a horse—in the soft dirt with a broken stick.

_"Boy, what do you think yer doin'?" the male caretaker asked him._

_"I'm drawing a horse and…" the young Tom Riddle attempted to explain._

_"Yer tearin' up my dirt, you little bastard," the husband said. "Gimme that!" He yanked the stick roughly from Tom's hands. He looked up at the caretaker with dirt, smudged cheeks and eyes full of confusion. The too-skinny, tall man with a scruffy beard and patchy neck hair stared down at him with bulging eyes. Five-year-old Tom tugged at the frayed cuff of his donated jumper, feeling afraid. He hadn't done anything wrong, had he?_

_"I'm sorry, the other kids didn't want to play with me, so I thought I would play over here. I didn't know I wasn't supposed to."_

_"Yer damn right you aren't 'sposed to. We barely have enough grass as is on this ruddy lawn," the husband said, spittle raining down over Tom's scruffy hair._

_"Well, what's all this then?" The other caretaker, a woman—just as skinny—with crooked teeth asked, climbing the hillside in a stilted manner. Her heavy makeup had sunken into the ruddy lines on her prematurely aging face She had been scolding the children who were playing ball past the low-lying valley on the beach beside the old cave. She looked from her the man to Tom. "What's going on?"_

_"This little shite thought he'd tear up our property instead of going down to the beach," the man spat, waving the pointed stick in the air angrily. Tom stood up slowly. Blinking away the moisture forming in his eyes._

_"I didn't mean to! The patch was already muddy and there wasn't any grass, so I thought—"_

_"You thought? Oh, so you've a brain now, do ya? What'd you do? Dig one up from the ground?" the man asked. The wife screeched with a cackle and laid a hand on the man's shoulder. The man stood up straighter, clearly proud of himself for such a smart comeback, and leaned into the woman's touch._

_"Why is it always you that's gettin' into all the mischief? Why can't you be like the other boys and girls, eh?" The woman prodded at him and crouched down to his eye level. "I often wish that whoever dropped you on this doorstep would've plopped you in the nearest well. You've caused us nothin' but grief since you got here, boy." Her voice was rough as it escaped through her ingenuine smile, her breath reeking of cigars. Had an outsider been watching, it would've appeared as though she were being kind, but the intensity in her eyes said otherwise._

_"I don't mean to cause you trouble, Miss. The other children—"_

_"Oh, go blame it on the others again, won'tcha? Yer excuses are always the same. I've not once had trouble out of the other children, but you… yer always stirrin' up something when yer alone," the man's voice was harsh as he continued to use the stick to emphasize his scolding._

_"I'm sorry, it won't happen again—I swear!" Tears trickled down Tom's cheeks, leaving lines that were clear of grime upon his face. The woman stood, crossing her arms, and glared down at him. The man's face twitched as he watched the young boy cry. It contorted into something foul._

_"Yer damn right it won't." The man's voice was low, as he brought the broken stick down upon Tom's back._

Riddle's eyes opened, his breathing coming to a calm, steady rhythm, his face passive of emotion. His destiny was clear as he recalled the first reason why. He wanted to remember what made him choose this path, what made him choose a destiny bound by blood-right_._He had long kept it buried, often lost within him. But he had found it again: his purpose.

For years he endured cruelty and callousness for being unlike the others. When the other children weren't alienating him, the muggle caretakers were ridiculing him, and often attempting to _correct_him through physical punishment. He spoke out against them when child services visited the orphanage, but the government man in the tan coat left with a few pounds in his pocket and Riddle was only punished harder. All of them were the same, right to the very core. Slytherin's gift had frightened them, but had _protected him._It had empowered him. Slytherin would be honored to have an heir so worthy. This was his birthright and the beginning of his rise to power. He would commit well to it.

Riddle continued to flip through the diary, reliving his memories of arriving to the wizarding school.

_During his first year at Hogwarts, Tom stayed throughout the Christmas holidays. He had nothing to return to at the orphanage. Everything that he was and would be rested within the castle. Everything he _could_be was here, in Hogwarts, and within the Wizarding World. It was the first place he likened to a home._

_On Christmas morning, he had been greeted with baked goods from the kitchens, a house scarf, and a new book all wrapped neatly and addressed to him underneath the bristly tree of the Slytherin common room, courtesy of the Hogwarts staff. From what he could observe, the few other students that had stayed at the castle for the holidays had received the same courtesy. _

_A new robe and tart sweeties rested at the foot of Tom's bed come December 31_ _st_ _—a birthday gift from Slughorn no doubt; he had taken a liking to him. When night came, he snuck out of his dorm and into the astronomy tower. He watched the stars twinkle in the clear, night sky like a thousand floating candles. Below, a foot of snow blanketed the grounds, partially covering the frozen Great Lake. The air had been crisp and chilled, and the sky glowed with starlight for him alone. The world's meager gift to him for turning twelve, he liked to believe._

_It was nearing midnight, the beginning of a new year. As he sat, his back leaning against the stone wall, he watched his breath fill the air in shallow puffs. He heard the screeching of a bird pierce the night. Before he could lean over the balcony to locate the creature, a large, tawny owl flew through the open balcony and landed before him, a rectangular parcel tied with string clutched in its strong talons._

_Tom removed the package carefully. The note card attached simply read, _"_Tom_" in a neat, slanting script._With careful hands, he untied the string and unwrapped the package. It was a diary. He caressed the leather cover gently, admiring a level of craftsmanship he had never quite seen in anything that wasn't an article of clothing. He turned over the journal and saw his name, "_Tom Marvolo Riddle,"_embossed in metal plating on the back, shining in brilliant gold. It was an emblem that marked the bound pages as his and his alone—no one could claim it but him. He sat, placing the book in his lap before pulling his knees—and the diary—to his chest. He wrapped his arms tight around his legs and cradled himself from the biting cold. Tom looked back to the stars that shined just for him. The clock struck twelve._

_…_

_As the following days passed, Tom busied himself with filling the blank pages of his diary. Wary of its content, he jinxed it so no one could open it without consequence. At breakfast the day before students would be returning from the winter holidays, Tom sat in the Great Hall quietly eating and pondering if that Malfoy boy would remember him from the semester before. Tom was pulled from his thoughts as he heard a scraping jingle of what sounded like loose change and candy wrappers in a pocket approaching his table._

_"Write anything good lately?"Dumbledore asked, his eyes twinkling beneath his auburn eyebrows. Tom didn't answer, but it appeared that Dumbledore hadn't expected him to: the middle-aged wizard was already walking out of the Great Hall, a smile resting in his bearded face._

Riddle looked at the now closed diary in his hand as his mind returned to the present. The cover was slightly worn, but inside had been kept in pristine condition—the pages still straight as an arrow. Riddle lifted the serpent mask to his face and secured it with a charm. He could hear the basilisk coiling and uncoiling behind him impatiently. He took a deep breath, and pushed the few concerns that attempted to plague him. Riddle strode to the entrance of the Chamber of Secrets and hissed, _open_. The vault-like door began clicking as a stone snake worked its way around the out rim of the barrier, unlocking it. The door opened fully to the darkness that lay just beyond.

With the diary clutched in one, Riddle lifted his other and pointed.

_"Kill."_

* * *

Hermione raced through the corridors and up the stairs in an effort to reach the Gryffindor House common room. Her chest ached and each breath was sharp as it tore into her throat. The air felt colder than usual, as though it were more than a draft slipping in through the open corridors. _Dark Magic._She remembered that feeling. It had plagued her during the battle at the Ministry of Magic. It was heavy and oppressive like summer heat, but icy as a winter wind. The basilisk was on the move.

In the distance, she saw students still in gowns and suits clamoring into the open portrait of the Fat Lady. The Fat Lady mumbled her discontent whenever a student bumped into her frame too roughly. Nearly believing her own lie she had told Slughorn, Hermione initially looked for Christopher alone—or the wolf mask that had been hiding his face from view at the masquerade. Instead of Christopher, she saw a large figure holding a bear mask in his hand. _Hagrid_and Minerva stood not so far behind him, looking disheveled, but safe, nonetheless. She let out a breath she hadn't known she had been holding and rushed over to them.

"Hagrid! Minerva!" she called out. Over the bustle of students and prefects shouting their commands, Hermione's voice went unheard. She shoved her way into the crowd and grabbed Hagrid roughly by the sleeve of his coat. He turned around to her.

"'Ermione! What're ye doin' here?" he bellowed. Immediately the prefects descended on her.

"I must ask you to please return to your respective common room. Dumbledore's orders," a freckle-faced boy told her.

"I have permission to be here," Hermione retorted, still gripping onto Hagrid and refusing to let him go.

"By whom, may I ask?" The boy cocked his head to the side, waiting for her reply.

"Horace Slughorn," Hermione replied, still coaxing Hagrid from the crowd. At this point Minerva turned around to see the exchange.

"I hardly think that Slughorn's words override that of Dumbledore's, Miss… Sivad, is it? You're Slughorn's new pet project aren't you? Is he grooming you nicely?" The boy asked lowly. Hermione gave the boy a look of disgust.

"Look, I just need a moment with Hagrid, it won't take long," she ground out, attempting to be civil.

"I'm afraid I can't allow that. Now, come with me, Miss Sivad," the boy reached for her, but pulled his hand back with a yelp when it was hit with a flying, stinging spell. His head snapped in the direction from which the jinx originated.

"Oh, sod off, Corristan," Minerva snapped as she slid her wand back into the pocket of her Gryffindor robe which she wore overtop her masquerade gown. A shiny "P" badge rested on the breast pocket of her robe. "I'm a prefect also, and if anyone is causing a hindrance tonight it's _you._Dumbledore's word is more valuable than Slughorn's, you say? What of your own, then? Who do you think Dumbledore will believe: you or I? Last time I checked, you are on your _third_false report. One more, and you may be put on suspension of your duties," Minerva said, challenging him.

"Fine, McGonagall. If any of us get into trouble tonight, it's on _you_," he said. "All right, everyone, into the common rooms and to your dormitories!" The Gryffindor students finished piling into the portal behind the Fat Lady before pulling it shut.

"Wow, Minerva, I didn't know you had it in you to jinx someone so openly," Hermione said, her eyes wide.

"I don't. I think it's the spiked cider talking. So much for being off duty tonight," Minerva said, her thumb and index finger massaging her forehead in frustration. Hermione shook her head, a smile ghosting her lips. She knew, deep down, that was _all_Minerva. She was always brave when it mattered most. "Anyway, what is that you need Hagrid for? I thought everyone is supposed to be going to their dorms right now?"

"They are. Something bad is happening Minerva… I can feel it, I just know it. I needed to find the two of you and make sure you were safe," Hermione said, worry seeping back into her skin.

"What else could possibly be wrong? If something else is going to happen, we need to tell Dumbledore or Headmaster Dippet right away," Minerva said as she tugged on Hermione's jumper sleeve, ushering her toward the hall. Hermione pulled back.

"Minerva, I believe Dumbledore already knows," Hermione said grimly. Albus Dumbledore wasn't a fool. She knew that in her time Dumbledore had always more than suspected the basilisk's terror as Riddle's doing. She saw how the wizard watched Riddle occasionally: closely and with deep concern in his eyes. Dippet may be oblivious, but Dumbledore was not.

"If Dumbledore knows, then what is there to worry about?" Minerva asked. Hermione knew she couldn't explain the situation to them. Hopefully, she could end it all before the events even began and she wouldn't have to.

"I'm just paranoid," Hermione said, "I can't find Christopher." Minerva's brow creased with worry and Hagrid shifted his weight from foot to foot in unease. "I was hoping one of you would know where he is. Aviela is safe—she's in the Ravenclaw common room, but Christopher never arrived."

Minerva shifted from foot to foot, wracking her brain for an inkling of where he may be.

"I remember seein' him walkin' down the hallway on the first floor," Hagrid said. "It looked like he was walkin' towards the Slytherin common rooms. Not too sure 'bout that, though."

"Why would he be going there?" Minerva asked Hagrid. Hermione didn't have it in her to tell Minerva he had been spending more time with the Riddle and Malfoy lately. She knew that Minerva wouldn't be comfortable with the idea—especially with danger looming on the horizon.

"I'll go find out. Just, whatever happens—the both of you—stay here in the common room. I'll make sure to message you somehow when I find him," Hermione said.

"But, Hermione, if you get caught—"

"Slughorn gave me permission. I shouldn't have any trouble. It'll be okay, just… stay here." Hermione needed to find Christopher. With each second that passed, the hallways grew colder, the air more constricting. Minerva nodded to her and Hagrid patted her on the back, worry plaguing his large, brown eyes. Hermione disillusioned herself and casted a silencing spell around her before running through the corridor and back down the ever-shifting staircases. Minerva and Hagrid watched until she disappeared from sight.

Minerva provided the password to the Fat Lady and entered the common room foyer.

"Hagrid?"

"Yes, Minnie?" Hagrid asked.

"What in Merlin's name was Hermione wearing on her feet?" Minerva asked before closing the portrait shut behind them. What an odd set of trainers they were, indeed.


	25. Blood and Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione confronts the basilisk and the fate of Myrtle Warren.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like the last chapter was rather short and I am currently working on the next one and will (hopefully) have it ready for publishing by tomorrow, so I thought I would go ahead and post another chapter for tonight. This chapter was equally as fun to write as it was difficult. I wanted to get it right. Hopefully I did and you all like it. The next chapter will be posted by Sunday night at the latest.
> 
> Happy weekend and almost Tom's birthday month! I hope you all enjoy this chapter! :)

Hermione rounded corner after corner and descended to each floor as quickly as the rotating staircases in Hogwarts would allow. The hallways were dimly lit by the wind-wicked sconces that fought against the dampness in the air. Knowing her friends were safe in their common rooms with the exception of Christopher, Hermione focused on the task at hand: finding Riddle and the basilisk—whichever came first. Her mind raced as she attempted to grasp at an inkling of a plan, only to come up short. She had only her wand and her wits about her—for whatever they would be worth after imbibing and dancing herself into a full exhaustion. Her adrenaline was the only thing keeping her moving forward.

Thankfully Hermione didn't encounter any professors or prefects in the halls. She wagered that they were still wrestling students from the dance floor and guiding them into their dorm rooms. At Dumbledore's direction, she was sure the faculty were doing so as efficiently as possible. Alternatively, she was sure that they may soon resort to knocking out the most raucous students with a wave of the wand and send them to the infirmary to marinate for a few hours in the downed spiked cider until they rushed to the lavatory to expel whatever remained.

_The lavatory. _Hermione nearly stumbled over her own feet as she remembered the ever-wailing ghost that mocked her after her failed attempt at brewing a Polyjuice potion to turn her likeness into that of Pansy Parkinson._Moaning Myrtle._She would become Riddle's first victim. Hermione took in a deep breath. Myrtle would die by meeting the gaze of a basilisk—_Riddle's_basilisk. He would then use her murder to split his soul and create his first horcrux—the diary.

Hermione immediately redirected her path. She would have to reach the girls' lavatory on the second floor before the basilisk if Myrtle were to have a chance of surviving the encounter. She cursed herself for losing time, for thinking Riddle would be passive when faced with the opportunity to wreak chaos on the night of the Halloween Ball. She had been horribly foolish, but she had not forgotten her mission. Hermione had not forgotten Dumbledore's intention for sending her back in to Riddle's era but, somehow, she simply believed that she would have had more _time_. Her chest tightened as she ran, proving even further that the assumption she had was sorely incorrect. She had run out of time. Dumbledore's faith had been misplaced. Alphard had chosen wrong. She was a part of nothing more than a hastily written, false prophecy intended to be a last resort. Riddle was right. She _was_a fraud.

But she was also the last line of defense in preventing the death of an innocent student and the creation of Riddle's first horcrux. She would have to try. Hermione's eyes stung at the threat of tears building in her eyes. How would she take on a basilisk? She barely understood her ability to speak to Nyoka, and under Riddle's command surely the beast held fealty to him and him alone. Hermione recalled her petrification during her second year at Hogwarts—how her studious nature had saved her from the basilisk's deathly glare. She had used a mirror as she walked the halls as a precaution when she rushed to find Harry and Ron to share her discovery. She had chosen her actions correctly. She still remembered the feeling of the bite of cold enveloping her body, the heaviness that weighed her down, and the world going dark—mirror still in hand. This time, she was much more unprepared. She had no reflective object to ward off the death glare, no professor who she could run to for help, and no Harry and Ron to save the day.

Hermione cursed herself, Tom Riddle, Alphard Corvus, and Salazar Slytherin. Would she even have a chance to get to know Riddle and convince him to abandon his dark path once his first horcrux was created? Could he even be convinced if she succeeded in stopping him on his first mission? The uncertainty wrapped Hermione in a blanket of dread. She needed answers. Part of her nearly beckoned out to Alphard in her mind, but she didn't welcome the sensations that would follow and couldn't risk any further disorientating events this evening. She would make her stand and either fail or succeed—to what degree she would leave up to the fates themselves.

Hermione grasped her wand tightly as she arrived on the second floor. The corridor before her seemed darker, more sinister. The sconces flickered lowly with sputtering flames, waning late into the night. Shadows danced in the corners, waiting to be summoned by the snuffing out of flame. She neither saw nor heard any straggling students, Riddle, or the basilisk. Hermione strained to listen and made her way toward the lavatory. With each step closer, the faintest of cries in the distance became clearer until it became a wailing sound. _Myrtle_.

Hermione crept low, casting a silencing charm on her feet to mask the sound of her footsteps. She made haste. The crying grew louder and louder until Hermione found herself outside the heavy, wooden lavatory door. She took a shaky breath, gripped her wand, and gritted her teeth, then she slowly pushed the door open.

The massive lavatory was dark and at first glance appeared abandoned. Hermione entered the room carefully, peeking around the corner with squinted eyes—ready to close them at a moment's notice if a scaly, slithering body came into sight. Past the bathroom stalls nearest the end of the room rested the same porcelain sinks that Harry and Ron had opened and entered to reach the Chamber of Secrets. The porcelain of the sinks shone softly, illuminated by the pale moonlight that streamed in through the high windows of the lavatory. The stone-flagged floor was free of debris and water—seemingly normal—like it had yet to be marred by a giant serpent's awakening. Hermione let the door fall back and stepper further into the entryway, her wand pointed toward the sinks—where she knew the basilisk could come from at any moment. The door fell back into place and connected to the inner latch with a dull _thud_.

"Who is there? Go away, Olive Hornby, you… you skunk!" Myrtle screeched out into the silent room, her screech echoing off the walls. Hermione followed the voice. She stopped in front of a stall harboring a pair of dirty, black loafers within. The feet were planted firmly on the floor beneath the stall as the human attached to them blew her nose fiercely in between sniffles. "I SAID GO AWAY!"

"I'm not Olive Hornby. It's… It's Hermione Sivad." Hermione gently rested the hand void of her wand on the stall door. "I am here to help you."

"Sivad? Oh, you mean the bushy-haired girl who has been running around with a gaggle of Slytherins who like to pick on poor Myrtle? GO AWAY." Myrtle seethed in her stall—a single eye making contact with Hermione's in between the crack in the stall door. Hermione didn't back down.

"Myrtle, please, _listen_to me. It's not safe in here—not by yourself," Hermione attempted to reason with the distressed Ravenclaw girl. "Please, just open the door and let's go back to the tower together."

"Not safe? This is the ONLY place I have been safe all evening—away from Olive, the stupid ball-all of it!" Myrtle blew her nose loudly.

"Myrtle, someone sabotaged the ball and—"

"And it's too bad I didn't think of it first!" Myrtle spat.

"_And_it's not safe to be wandering out of the common rooms. Dumbledore is moving all students to their dorms. Please—I know you are angry, and you want privacy—but you have to trust me," Hermione begged to the girl, her hand planted more firmly on the stall and her wand ready to take down the door by force if necessary.

"_Trust_you? What, so you and Olive can pelt me with biscuits once I leave the lavatory? I think not." Hermione could only imagine the girl angrily crossing her arms within.

"Myrtle, _please_—"

Just as Hermione stepped back to prepare to blast the latch off the door, a low groan rumbled the lavatory. The distant sound scraped like large stones sliding past one another as something deep within the bowels of Hogwarts stirred, something _alive_. Hermione hit the stall door fiercely with her free hand in desperation. "Myrtle, we have to go NOW!"

Before Myrtle could respond, a male's voice—_Riddle's_voice, Hermione recognized, echoed softly in the distance. To ordinary ears, it would've been indiscernible, but Hermione heard the unmistakable directive, a series of sharp hisses by an experienced tongue, given to the basilisk to _kill_. The Chamber of Secrets had been opened and the pipe system was shifting, which would soon allow for the King of Serpents to pass through to strike at the bidding of its master.

"I knew you weren't alone! I am telling Dumbledore you are advocating bullyinh and inviting boys into the girls washrooms," Myrtle called out and began sliding the lock out of place.

"_Colloportus!" _Hermione called out, locking the door firmly in place. "I am sorry Myrtle. Close your eyes—whatever you do, do not look out of the stall!"

"Let me out, Sivad!" Myrtle's voice raised an octave, panicked, as she attempted to manually unlock the door repetitively.

Hermione looked around frantically at the dozens of mirrors secured to the walls. In a flurry of rationality and desperation, she waved her wand and whispered _accio mirror_. The large mirror pulled from its hinges and began sailing toward her rapidly. Hermione whispered a firm _levispeculo_and the mirror ceased from crashing into her and instead hovered in midair at the place in which her wand had quickly went to work, summoning as many mirrors as she could manage and arranging them to levitate in a half-moon circle, creating a curved wall of mirrors she could use as defense against the basilisk's glare if she so happened to meet it.

When the mirrors were all arrange facing outward, Hermione stepped between them and with the flick of her wand, the mirrors turned to face inward, toward the column of sinks. She stood in front of the mirrors, the collection reflecting a dozen Hermione Grangers—not Hermione _Sivads_. It was her Gryffindor bravery, and foolishness, that drove her now. Ravenclaw and Slytherin be damned—the lion within her heart roared in the face of the impending danger.

"Hush…" Hermione ordered the whining girl. She closed her eyes and listened carefully. The sliding of stone against something other than itself reverberated in the deep below them, the sounds grew closer with each intake and exhale of her shaky breathing. Images of her mother and father, Harry, Ron, Luna, Neville and Crookshanks filled her mind. Her thoughts strayed from them to Aviela, Minerva, Christopher, Hagrid, and Nyoka. Every being that had found a way into her heart, whether on purpose or by happenstance, flickered behind her eyes. Her heart ached, but she was reminded of only a few of the reasons why she stood, awaiting the basilisk's arrival.

Suddenly, Hermione was pulled from her reminiscing as the floor rumbled and the oversized pipe connected to the sinks was slowly revealed. The sinks parted and the pipe's chasm opened wide to prepare for the basilisks exit from below. Hermione took a deep breath and closed her eyes. In the most reckless decision she had ever made in her life, Hermione turned her back on the gaping maw now exposed in the lavatory floor. She knew that if she looked the basilisk in the eyes, she would die. If she looked in the mirrors and became petrified, then Myrtle would still more than likely be killed. Hermione lifted her wand high in the air and slowly moved it toward the floor, directing all of the levitating mirrors downward. She prayed to all the gods in existence that mirrors reflections would be beyond the scope of the basilisk's line of vision and her and Myrtle both would survive the encounter.

Hermione had no doubt that the basilisk would move, poised to strike with an aim to kill as it had done so with Harry when he faced off against the creature. However, this time there would be no Sorting Hat from which to pull Godric Gryffindor's sword, no Fawkes to shed a tear in any wounds she might receive, and no diary to destroy to make Tom Marvolo Riddle disappear. She was outnumbered and outmatched. And yet… she continued to angle the mirrors just right.

She stood strong and still, listening beyond the soft blubbering of Myrtle. The rumbling came faster and the sound of scales against stone grew louder. She felt the beginning of a massive presence looming behind her and smelled the stench of something foul—like rotting vermin and sewage. She did not move, did not make a sound, as she heard the hiss of the beast fill the room. It was hissing a _warning_.

_"I was sent out to play_

_to see what I could find_

_I happen across a speaker  
the one not left behind."_

The basilisk directed its hissing toward her as it spoke. She swore she could almost feel its hot breath falling upon her. Hermione kept her eyes squeezed tight. She could hear Myrtle's whimpering quieten inside the stall.

"_No, I am not him,"_Hermione hissed back at the creature plainly, trying not to let her fear betray her.

"_Hundreds of years, eating_

_the flesh of my own kin_

_Kindly step aside, speaker_

_and let my feast begin."_

_"No, I am not going anywhere."_Hermione hissed low—the beast's own warning being sent back to it. Slytherin's Serpent rumbled with a hiss.

_"So be it."_She heard the basilisk hiss sharply as it approached. Hermione waved her wand, pulling an angled mirror close to her face. She opened her eyes just in time to see the snake direct the lower half of its body to strike where she stood. She leaped to the right—away from the stall Myrtle was now screaming in. The basilisk bit heartily into the stones where Hermione had stood. At the bashing of its nose upon the floor, the beast let out a terrible screech, more in anger than in pain.

"Keep your eyes closed, Myrtle!" Hermione yelled to the girl whom she could see from her spot on the floor. Myrtle was crouched down near the toilet, covering her head from the debris the basilisk spat as it raised back on its haunches. Thankfully, the girl listened and hid her face in the cradle of her arms. Her screaming did not cease.

Hermione scrambled to her feet and flicked her wand, sending a mirror flying behind her and toward the basilisk. A loud crash and shatter filled the room followed by the oversized serpent's shrieks of pain. Hermione angled another mirror and narrowly missed the reflected serpent lunging forward toward her. She dove to the right and rolled out of the way. From her place on her back, she sent another mirror sailing forcefully toward the basilisk. She summoned a floating mirror into view and in the angled mirror before her. However, Hermione was not quick enough as the serpent's body slammed into her and sent her sailing across the room into the set of stalls opposite Myrtle. She hit the stall forcefully, knocking the breath out of her.

Hermione rolled onto her hands and knees. She kept her eyes squeezed tightly shut as she tried to catch her breath. Her chest ached and her head throbbed fiercely from the impact. She knew she couldn't keep this up forever. The basilisk was catching onto her fighting pattern and would sooner just pluck the moaning Myrtle from her place in the stall just to shut her up. She grabbed her wand and pushed up from the floor, using the stall beside her to steady her.

Hermione scrambled back to her wall of remaining mirrors and twisted around, the flick of her wand sending another mirror into the basilisk. Another crash, shatter, and hiss of pain filled the room, indicating that she hit her mark. She shifted her floating mirrors, lining them up one by one, their edges facing out. Hermione prepared herself to slice Slytherin's Serpent into oblivion. Eyes still closed; she sent the first two mirrors sailing like blades. One connected as indicated by another screech from the basilisk, however one crashed somewhere off in the distance. Hermione turned to send the next couple to their designated target, but a terrifying roar escaped the creature and she felt the armor-like scales hasten against the stone floor as the serpent smashed headlong into the wall of mirrors, sweeping its head from left to right to avoid the sharpest points. The head of the serpent collided with her body and she was thrown across the room amongst the broken glass.

Hermione's arms and legs stung from the various cuts she had received from the bed of broken mirror shards she now lied upon. Her only wall of defense against the monster and fallen. Her plan to fight the basilisk had failed. She cursed herself. She feared that she had not only supplied Riddle with his first horcrux—Myrtle—but also his second: herself. Hot tears escaped her eyes, but she still attempted to stand.

"_I will rip you… tear you…" _the basilisk called to her as it moved slowly toward the stall Myrtle was hiding in.

As she made the final push to stand on her feet, Hermione's head was hit with a sharp pain and she cried out, stumbling backward. The pain filling her headspace felt like a growing pressure—like a _presence._It reminded her of the last time Alphard attempted to contact her.

_Alphard_.

Instead of pushing against the entity attempting to force its way into her mind, Hermione gave in freely, willingly—allowing Alphard to find residence inside her mind and very self.

_"Awfully cramped in here, you know—what with that big brain of yours and all."_Alphard's deep voice commented once he was fully seated in her mind. She could only imagine him settling inside like he were breaking in a new piece of furniture.

"Alphard…" Hermione ground out through the dulling pain and in slight annoyance.

"_I have an idea, but you must trust me Hermione_." Alphard spoke quickly—desperately.

Hermione staggered on her feet and gave a solid nod, granting Alphard permission in her mind.

"_Let my essence flow through you, speak the words with me, dear one, and may we put an end to this nightmare."_Hermione stopped hesitating and let his spirit wash over her.

A tingling sensation flowed from Hermione's head to the tips of her toes. The hair on her arms raised as gooseflesh chilled her body. Her senses were heightened, making her feel as though she were a metal rod facing down the eye of a lightning storm. The energy swirling around her, ready to light her up.

She felt _powerful_. She felt like a livewire or a kettle about to boil over. Hermione didn't even bother to search for her wand in the moment. Her nails dug into her the palms of her tightly fisted hands. The pressure in her head from sharing a space with another entity was still overwhelming, but much less painful than fighting back. Between the heightened smells and sounds, she perceived all things as both she _and_Alphard Corvus did all at once—and in her mind, Alphard stood—eyes wide—ready to face the basilisk head on.

_"Walk, Hermione… Open your eyes." _Alphard's commanding voice filled whatever remaining spaces she had in her being. She forced down the heavy feeling in her limbs and took a step forward. Despite her fears, she gave her trust over to him; she opened her eyes.

Staring back at her in the mess of the broken mirrors on the floor were two silver irises belonging solely to her. She appeared alone, but the roaring in her mind told her otherwise. Alphard was with her… so was the basilisk, whose large body she saw coiling and uncoiling in her peripheral vision.

_"Face the basilisk—and do not be afraid, Hermione. We are in this together." _Alphard reassured her. She breathed deep and looked up.

The first thing she noticed upon meeting the gaze of the basilisk is that she wasn't dead or petrified on the spot. The second thing she noticed was that the serpent harbored several nasty gashes on its face and body from the mirrors she had sent sailing toward it during the fight. She had struck true. The last thing she noticed was Riddle standing in front of the gaping chasm that had been revealed.

Riddle stood, still in his robes that he had worn to the Halloween Ball, though they were much more disheveled than when Hermione had last seen them. His ebony hair was wild—like he had ran the whole way here. It reminded her of Harry's after quidditch practice. His mouth was agape, and his wide eyes were staring intensely at her staggering form from across the room. He looked more like a boy in awe than that of a young man hellbent on killing a student. To put it simply, Tom Riddle was _surprised_.

Hermione looked into his eyes with a ferocity that she was sure Godric Gryffindor would be proud of. She took another determined step forward. He would take no lives and sever no souls on this night. She would ensure it with her final breath. Hermione turned her attention from Riddle to the angered serpent writhing on the floor. It hissed and spat and rose on its haunches high above her, poising to strike.

Hermione looked deep into the serpent's bright yellow eyes. Her hand rose toward the basilisk and, with Alphard's power flowing through her, Hermione hissed the final command.

_"I speak for Salazar Slytherin's namesake, for the Greatest of the Hogwarts Four." _Alphard's word flowed through her and rolled off of her tongue as he channeled through her. Their voices combined and the resulting hiss fell from her mouth and filled the room. The beast gave pause at the title of its former took the chance and stepped forward, placing her hand upon the Serpent's exposed underbelly.

_"I command you, King of Serpents, to return to slumber in your chambers for all eternity. If you deny Slytherin's demands, you are to gouge your eyes out upon the very stone face of the man that gave you purpose. Now, GO." _Hermione's hand pushed hard upon the serpent, as though she could force it to move with her own physical strength. Though she was unable to physically push the serpent, she felt the exchange of power as it was written in blood—her own open wound, connecting with the basilisk's.

"_One speaker's promise was true  
but one speaker cannot beat two._

_I shall slumber and wait for the call_

_of Slytherin's heir—or none at all."_

The wounded basilisk turned and slithered away from Hermione and back into the large opening by the sinks. Hermione hissed a command and the chasm closed tight; the sinks of the lavatory locked back into place as the King of Serpents returned to the Chamber of Secrets for its continued slumber.

The rush of power left Hermione's body suddenly and she felt the world tilt. She reeled and fell down upon the stones, atop shattered glass and basilisk blood. From her place on the floor, she looked back toward the now sealed pipe opening to make sure it had remained closed. Instead, her eyes met those of Tom Marvolo Riddle's. His dark eyes betrayed a sense of shock and what seemed to be a tinge of what Hermione recognized as _horror_. It was the first time she had ever seen him show such emotion. And for that emotion to possibly be fear? Hermione could only imagine how terrifying she could've appeared just moments before. Her thoughts flashed back to the girl still hunkered down in the stall.

"Myrtle…" Hermione called out. She tried to crawl toward the stall, to tell her to run from the lavatory—from Riddle, but she collapsed upon her weakened arms. She felt tired and heavy. She tried to summon her wand, but the magic inside her wouldn't come to her aid. Her breathing became shallow as a knowing chill consumed her body, one that reminisced petrification setting in.

As Hermione flitted in and out of consciousness, she did not see Tom Riddle silently cast _accio _on her form, summoning her into his waiting arms before making their swift exit from the lavatory. Nor did she see a completely shocked Myrtle—still quite alive—watching her body retreat through the crack in the door. The world was torn asunder and Hermione welcomed the growing darkness like an old friend, and this time she was eager to meet it.


	26. The Moon Eclipsed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath leaves more questions than answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone had a lovely holiday and weekend. I am not eager to go back to work yet, but I am happy that Christmas season is officially here! Whether you celebrate or not, I hope the winter season brings you joy and warmth. Also, Happy Birthday Month to Tom Riddle! 
> 
> Christmas at Hogwarts is also fast approaching in my story, so stay tuned for yuletide fun! But, for now, please enjoy the most up-to-date chapter of my fic. Unfortunately, this signals the beginning of longer times between chapters because I no longer have backlogged content. Please be patient and understand that I'll get them up as quickly as I can manage!
> 
> Thanks for everyone's support! Hope ya'll enjoy this chapter!
> 
> **Not all Pottermore, Fantastic Beasts, and Cursed Child content is included in this story--this is AU, please be aware.**

A young man dressed in billowing, black robes walked down the halls of Hogwarts with purpose. The wind whispered, sharp with accusations, pulling on his clothing from the various drafts that often escaped into the castle. His skin felt too tight and a severe line creased his forehead, his expression fierce. His breathing came in quick bursts as he used his knowledge of the shortcuts he had discovered during his time residing in the school to make haste. When no shortcut could be taken, he took the stairs two at a time, striding with intent to his destination.

The unconscious girl he held stiffly in his arms did not wake—even when jostled through portraits and hidden corridors. Hesitantly, the young man adjusted his hand just enough so his slender fingers grazed the nape of her neck. She was growing colder and colder with each minute that passed. He kept moving, his fingertips not straying from the faint pulse point beneath her pale skin.

The silencing spell and disillusionment charm cast around them served its purpose as they passed by the Bloody Baron, whom had parted from the Astronomy Tower to walk the halls on Halloween night. Though the concealment magic was in full effect, the young man noticed that the ghost's gaze lingered upon their retreating forms until they rounded the corner. The halls remained blanketed with silence until a clock chimed faintly down the hall, signaling the waning night hours. He was running out of time.

The darkling approached the blank, brick wall and walked back and forth, constructing the location and demanding what he needed within his own mind. He repeated the thought over and over again until his desires became a mantra of hushed whispers. Then, before them, a door manifested itself upon the solid stones. When the door was fully formed, he grabbed the knob and turned until it clicked open resolutely. The Room of Requirement provided Tom Marvolo Riddle with what he had requested.

_Hermione awoke in a dark room she had seen many times before. The room was cavernous and wide. The cobblestone platform had cracked in several places near where she stood. The water surrounding the platform was undisturbed and so still that it could have better served as a mirror than a potential safe harbor for living creatures. In the distance at the end of the platform was the face of Salazar Slytherin, his stone mouth opened wide—waiting._

_She walked down the platform with less trepidation than she had recalled in the past. Something deep within her repeated that she was _safe, safe, safe. _The words fell in a steady rhythm with her heartbeat, reassuring her with each gentle thumping in her chest. She stood before Slytherin and waited, listening. A familiar scraping of scales against stone echoed off the dripping cavern's walls. The basilisk unfurled itself from the mouth of Slytherin and slithered toward Hermione._

_The basilisk hissed and circled around her form, but never quite enough to touch her. As the serpent passed, she noticed that its body harbored various scars and healed wounds caused by several deep slashes—slashes from a battle she foggily remembered, as though it were in another life. The serpent wound around to face her with its striking yellow eyes._

_"Traitor…" The King of Serpents hissed. Its eyes glowed bright with intent._

_Hermione tried to speak, to make her case to the serpent, but no sound escaped her._

"You made a promise

not to harm or rule,

but in your failure,

become the fool."

_The basilisk screeched into the vast cavern. Its wide mouth dripping with poisonous ichor._

_Hermione's heart thumped assuredly: _safe, safe, safe. _She took a deep breath, trying again to respond. Her voice was still swallowed by the emptiness._

"Why would you betray us so, Miss Hermione? I thought we were friends?" _The basilisk's hissing shifted into something familiar—into Nyoka's voice. A movement at her feet drew Hermione's attention downward. Before her, laying on the cold stone below, was a small, familiar serpent severed in half. The façade of safety shattered._

_Hermione gasped and stumbled back from the lifeless body of Nyoka. Her heart skipped a beat as a fierce cry shattered the silence. The cry was reminiscent of a phoenix and blended with the frightening growl emanating from the basilisk who appeared to be on the offensive, rising tall and waiting._

_Hermione looked upward as the underbelly of a silver-winged creature swiftly sailed overhead. It harbored a serpentine like head and body, two legs, and large plume-like wings. The unbeknownst creature's wailing song pierced Hermione's heart. Tears filled her eyes and rushed down her cheeks, falling to the ground below. When she looked down, Nyoka's body was mending itself back together—tendon by tendon. Hermione fell to her knees, crying and cradling the healing serpent close._

_Tears rolled down her face as she looked up, searching for the creature. The basilisk was gone. Within the darkness of the cavern, it suddenly began to rain._

_With a flash of lightning, Hermione awoke._

Her body felt heavy, like someone had laid cinderblocks upon her while she had slept. She blinked, trying to force her eyes open. She had no clue where she was. The last thing Hermione remembered was reaching for Myrtle, telling her to run—to get out of the lavatory and to safety—and the fearful Ravenclaw crouching in the stall, stock still.

Her eyes opened and her blurred vision soon cleared as a dimly lit room came into view. Hermione lied beneath several blankets in a large fourposter bed with a dark canopy hanging overhead. Her fingers twitched atop the silky, emerald green duvet. The sheer, black curtains that were attached to the fabric topping were drawn, tied neatly with twisted silver threads around each intricately carved, wooden post. Even in her groggy state, Hermione knew she was no longer in the lavatory, and she certainly was not in her dorm room high in the Ravenclaw towers.

She attempted to move, but her limbs refused to adhere to her body's command. She attempted to summon her wand, but her whispered summoning spell and attempt at wandless magic was ineffective: her wand was nowhere to be seen. She prepared herself to try again, mustering up all of the willpower within her to make an effort once more.

"I would not try that again if I were you," a male's voice called from the corner of the room. From his seat in a plush, black chair, Riddle twirled her wand deftly in his right hand. He no longer wore the robes he had worn to the Halloween Ball, but instead he had on his school-issued uniform. Unlike the typical polished look Riddle seemed to prefer and maintain in his day to day business, the sleeves of his white button up were rolled up past his elbows, exposing his forearms. The sweater vest he wore looked a little more wrinkled than usual and his Slytherin-colored tie was loosened at his neck—like it had been tugged on several times before in an attempt to pull more air into his lungs. His hair was still as wild as Hermione had recalled it being in the lavatory—like he had ran a hand through it one too many times. Compared to his regular state of dress, Riddle appeared disheveled.

A knot formed in Hermione's stomach. She swallowed heavily, not prepared to defend herself from her potential captor. She was just so tired. Maybe he would kill her swiftly and she could finally rest in peace. It wasn't a pleasant thought, but it was a thought, nonetheless.

Riddle pushed up from his place in the chair and casually walked around the fourposter to her bedside. He tucked her wand securely in his pants pocket that was angled away from the bed. Riddle now held his own wand firmly in his hand. Hermione wished she could shrink into the bed and disappear into a peaceful oblivion where she could accept her failures and spend a millennium trying to atone for them. Riddle's eyes trailed down the length of her covered form and back up. She met his dark stare. His facial expression looked passive, but his posture was stiff—like he was preparing for an assault at any moment, like he was ready to fight if necessary. Just as well, his eyes betrayed his alertness. She attempted to muster up the strength to throw herself at him—to fight for her wand and then her life, but, before she could begin to move, Riddle broke the silence.

"How do you feel?" The words flowed in a monotone intonation, like they hadn't just witnessed him summon a giant snake into the girl's lavatory. Hermione cleared her dry, scratchy throat. She debated on answering him, but after several moments of silence—and when it is was clear he wasn't just going to walk away—she relented.

"Tired…" She managed to whisper. It wasn't a lie, but she wanted to reveal little about how weakened she was—how depleted of magic she felt. Riddle pulled her wand from his pocket and set it down in the empty space on the bed beside of her. He readied his own wand, pointing it in her direction, prepared to act.

"Retrieve your wand," Riddle ordered, not moving from his current defensive stance.

This was her chance to escape, to stop Riddle—and he was gifting the fight to her on a silver platter, so to speak. Hermione's fingers twitched and she attempted to move her hand toward her wand. Despite all the effort she put behind her ministrations, her hand barely moved an inch in the direction of her wand. When he realized that Hermione was unable to move, let alone secure her wand, he silently summoned it back into his freehand and placed it in his pocket once more.

Tears of frustration formed in her eyes. Not only was she defenseless, but she was now _embarrassed_at her inability to perform a simple task in front of Tom Riddle. The last thing she needed to appear was weak, but the wellspring that was her magic had been emptied and barely a ripple on the surface had been its response to her efforts.

Riddle paid her no mind as he walked across the room to a large, wooden cupboard and withdrew a vial of murky liquid. He swirled it around carefully, allowing whatever ingredients that had settled to the bottom to disperse evenly back into the thick mixture. He approached her bedside with the glass vial.

"Open your mouth," he instructed, almost looking slightly uncomfortable as he swayed from one foot to the other. Hermione's brow furrowed. There was no way in _hell_she planned to take any further orders from him.

"No. I am not drinking anything _you_offer me, Tom Riddle," Hermione spat back at him.

"It's a Mandrake Restorative Draught. You will drink it, or you will die. Take your pick." Riddle held the draught in hand, awaiting her response—her _choice_. Hermione recalled consuming the potion only once before: when she had been petrified by the basilisk in her second year at Hogwarts. It was clear that the weight in her bones was beyond that of standard exhaustion, and instead was the press of petrification spreading through her. She was not an heir of Slytherin, at least not in the traditional sense—and this proved it to some degree. Had it not been for Alphard and his power working through her, Hermione had no doubt that meeting the basilisk's eyes would have more than likely resulted in her swift end. She stared at the vial in Riddle's outstretched hand. If death came for her, she would rather it be later than sooner.

"Fine." Hermione opened her mouth just enough. Riddle leaned over her and pressed the cool rim of the glass to her lips, pouring the draught slowly inside. Hermione winced as she swallowed the wretched potion that burned her throat. From this angle, she saw a small smattering of freckles across the bridge of the heir's nose—like he had stepped out in the sun for a bit too long as summer waned. They seemed out of place—almost _ironic _on the young man's stoic face. After pouring the last drop, Riddle re-corked the vial and walked back to the cabinet to store the empty container. When he didn't return immediately, Hermione wondered aloud what she had feared all along.

"Did you… did you read my mind while I was unconscious?" Hermione knew she was walking in dangerous territory by potentially giving him ideas.

"No," Riddle stated plainly as he closed the cabinet doors. Relief washed over Hermione. "However, I certainly tried." _Ah, there it is. _"Petrification was setting in fast and prevented your mind from being accessible to me at the time."

"Let me guess, you healed me so that you could do so when any remnants of petrification were lifted?" Hermione sneered at him.

"I desire answers, and I will get them in whatever way I can, Miss Sivad, I assure you." Riddle peered at her from the corner of his eyes. Despite the potion having yet worked its way through her limbs, a chill rippled down Hermione's spine. She knew he was telling the truth. Riddle secured the latch on the cabinet once more "It would appear that both of us harbor dangerous secrets."

"I never kept a murderous basilisk as a pet in Hogwarts's basement," Hermione murmured.

"And yet you hide your own murderous familiar high in Ravenclaw tower, anticipating you will not be exposed to your fellow classmates that you are a parselmouth." Riddle made his way around the room and pushed the chair closer to the bedside. He paused, waiting for her rebuttal with his elbows resting upon the luxurious furniture, the tops of his hands cradling his chin as he studied her.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak but thought better of it. The less he knew about Nyoka and his potential future relationship with the snake the better.

"I ought to tell Professor Dumbledore of your intentions—of what you planned to do to your fellow students—as a _prefect_, even." Hermione freely wiggled her fingers of her left hand as she regained feeling in them. Riddle scoffed.

"Tell Dumbledore? Only for Headmaster Dippet and the professors to find you as the suspect in your own accusations? Afterall, the trouble did not begin until your arrival. I would highly recommend rethinking your strategy, Miss Sivad. You are the outsider here, not I."

As frustrated as she was, Hermione knew he was right. She arrived under mysterious circumstances, had caused much upheaval concerning the social expectations at Hogwarts during this time period, and even had knowledge of magical theory and spellwork that most students would not learn until their seventh year. Her very existence within the walls of Hogwarts was unusual. Dumbledore had known that her presence at Hogwarts was highly unusual. Now Riddle, who had also believed her to be speaking in half-truths, was affirmed in his suspicions.

Riddle moved from his place behind the chair and sat down. He summoned a book from a distant shelf in the room with a swift wave of his wand and began thumbing through its pages. She could not see the title from her spot on the bed, but the book Riddle held looked quite aged and thin compared to most textbooks she had seen him reading during class. He paused for a moment on what she assumed was the index before turning to his desired page in the book.

"Where am I?" From her time spent at Hogwarts, Hermione had a solid guess as to what room could supply them with such Slytherin-esque furniture and a cabinet filled with highly potent restorative draughts that are considered to be fairly lucrative in potion shops.

"Hogwarts has many secrets. One of which being a place that provides its users with anything they can imagine or might need. It is well hidden, but not well known." Riddle turned the next page of the book. "When we leave, this room will cease to exist as it does in the present."

_Definitely the Room of Requirement. _She was unsurprised that Riddle would know of this place. She wondered what other dark or mysterious things he had used the magical room for. She swallowed hard.

"So, do you plan to frame me for the murder of an innocent girl?" Hermione rotated her wrist as the feeling of blood rushing back down her arm became more tangible with each tingling jolt.

"There was no murder," Riddle replied simply, not once looking up from the book in his hands.

"What? But I thought…" Hermione nearly choked as she used her reinvigorated arm to push herself up higher in the bed. She groaned when discomfort suddenly spread through her back, like she was bending herself at an angle all wrong, before her body adjusted to the new position.

"That poor excuse for a witch was inside the stall, yes, and may very well still be there. But the basilisk did not kill her…" he paused, taking his dark eyes off the book to meet her own, "…and neither did I."

A heavy wave of relief washed over Hermione. She had not failed. She had, in fact, _saved_Myrtle Warren. She had stopped Tom Riddle from creating his first horcrux. She fell back in the pillows behind her and stared up at the sheer canopy, trying to make out what lie beyond the veil. It seemed almost impossible that she had been able to _do_something. With Alphard's help she succeeded, of course, but still… she was not at a total loss. She turned her head and looked at Riddle.

"Why?" Hermione wasn't sure what response she would receive—or if he would even anticipate what she was asking.

"You will have to be more specific if you desire a response." Riddle turned the page of the leather-bound book. Why? She knew very little herself. Why had he attacked Myrtle? Why had he let her live? Why had the basilisk listened to her orders over his own? Why did he not appear angrier that she had foiled his dark plans? Why had he brought her to the Room of Requirement to save her as opposed to letting her succumb to petrification or worse?

"Why did you summon the basilisk?" Hermione asked. It was as good of a starting place as any, she supposed.

"To see exactly what the beast could do under my command," Riddle responded simply. _Vague_. Though, he did not lie.

"And you would risk the lives of your fellow students?" Hermione pried.

"I assure you, no Slytherins were at risk." Riddle dog-eared the corner of a page. Hermione winced doubly at his response and the action taken.

"And Myrtle clearly isn't a Slytherin. Why did you allow her to live after what she witnessed?" Hermione pushed.

"The witch did not see me, so I am not the one at risk, need I remind you. Furthermore, my priorities in that moment shifted, so to speak."

"Because of me," Hermione stated plainly.

"Because of you," Riddle responded, a slight bite to his voice. He closed the book he held and lay it upon the armrest of the chair. His full attention was now on her. "From the beginning, I knew there was more to you, Hermione Sivad. No matter where I looked, you were there, involved in some sort of chaos—like the world gifted it to you. Orphaned, sent to live in a foreign land with nothing but an old trunk to your name, and your arrival has brought death upon Hogsmeade twice now." Riddle stood from his chair and stepped closer to the bedside. _Twice?What does he mean twice?_Her heart sunk into her stomach.

"If there are gods in heaven, they must _despise_you… and I can't help but wonder why? What could you, _Hermione Sivad_, have possibly done to earn the wrath of the gods?" He leaned in, his voice dropping low—near gravelly in nature. Hermione furrowed her brow together in offense as he crowded her space and accused her of inciting some sort of celestial anger. Her heart ached. She would be lying if she told him she did not feel cursed with the hand that had been dealt to her.

"I've angered them no worse than you have, _Tom Riddle_." Hermione frowned back at him. Deep within she must've hit a nerve as something harsh flashed in his eyes. Something unknown to Hermione.

"No. I would say not," He replied plainly and withdrew his wand from his pocket, toying with it in his hands.

"Tell me, Miss Sivad, how are you feeling?" His eyes continued examining his wand as his fingers traced the designs in the wood slowly. Hermione swallowed hard. She debated on telling the truth or lying. She was sure he would know the difference regardless.

"…Better," she replied.

"Good." Riddle then turned his wand on her. "_Legilimens!"_

Riddle would find his answers soon enough.

As he cast the spell, Riddle felt immense pressure upon his own mind as something pushed back. It was unlike the effects of petrification that had kept him locked out of her mind while she slept. His attempts to delve into her mind then had been like hitting a stone wall with the echoes of nothing beyond it but vast emptiness. Now, the effects felt like something, or _someone_, pushing back against him. In her weakened state, Riddle suspected that his spell should've been effortless.

He pushed back against the force, his mind reaching like an outstretched hand, grasping at darkness and coming up empty. Despite the discomfort, he persisted until a shadowy remnant of a memory brushed his conscious. He closed his imagined fist tight, capturing the sole memory and pulling it taught. The presence in her mind pulled back, as though in a game of tug of war. Riddle rushed toward the memory as it thinned, spanning out of reach. Snippets of recollections and thoughts rushed toward Riddle in a whirlwind.

_A man and woman smile down at the laughing baby in the woman's arms. This is all new to them. They will try to be better for her…_

_A dark-haired boy with glasses, a redheaded boy with freckles, and a girl with frizzy hair and large front teeth laugh by a fire, a pile of assorted candies lay in front of them. The air smells sweet. It feels like home…_

_Running. Don't stop running. Her curly hair a blur in the dark room. Hundreds of orbs fall from high above, crashing down. Her mind racing. What have they done? Where is he…?_

_A packed trunk, tears streaming down her face. Loneliness is a burden she never wanted to carry again. A deep breath. The room spins. The world rushes to meet her. Am I alive…?_

_A kiss upon her lips as she fell. She felt on fire, then a cold darkness overcame her…_

_A pale, gruesome creature: gaunt with red eyes and a snakelike nose and—_

_Suddenly, a man with black, messy hair snarled and then a _push.

Riddle physically stumbled back a few steps as the force within her mind threw him out violently. He took a deep breath. Hermione Sivad lie on the bed, once again a victim of her own subconscious. She appeared lifeless save for the shallow rise and fall of her chest beneath her jumper, indicating steady breaths entering and exiting her body.

He questioned what he had just witnessed from the strands of memory he had managed to observe in her mind. Her childhood family and friends, perhaps? The trio sitting by the fire seemed so at ease, like they knew each other with a familiarity that only time and hardship could bring. Then, an accident or some sort of mischief that only led to destruction? He was unsure. Regardless, he believed he had caught a glimpse of her nearly failed apparation to Hogwarts.

Riddle's thoughts then lingered on her reaction to the kiss they had shared. Something warm and uncomfortable settled on the back of his neck at the thought. He doubted the feeling would have been the same had she known it was him. He was quite positive she would have been disgusted had she known that he was playing her for a fool at the behest of Abraxas Malfoy. The _date_being a small favor to keep her safe. Riddle pushed down the parts of him that tried to recall their engaging conversations. As it turned out, she had played him for the fool by the night's end.

And who was the ghastly, humanlike creature that ebbed with fear in her passing memories? The monster was foul and terrifying. Its deep, red eyes clued Riddle in to the being's potential title: _dark wizard._Did the shattering orbs have something to do with the wizard? What had she done to draw his attention? Riddle could only surmise the she or her family were running from the dark wizard and that her sudden arrival to Hogwarts possibly had something to do with her seeking refuge. Hermione Sivad, on the exterior appeared to be a helpful, headstrong witch. However, after witnessing the force she wielded against the basilisk, Riddle could see why such power and cunning might draw the attention of a dark wizard.

He could see how she could be an asset. The gears in Riddle's mind turned as he placed his wand on the chair behind him and approached the bedside where the girl lie. Carefully, and before he thought better of it, he pulled the duvet closer around her. She did not stir. He resigned himself to the plush, black chair once more. He picked up the worn copy of _Tales of the Beedle and the Bard_. It was the first book he had read after he was identified as a wizard and sent to Hogwarts to study. The book was significant to him, but he always wondered if there was more to the tales and nursery rhymes within the leather-bound pages.

Riddle attempted to continue reading, but his mind kept drifting back to the image of the fierce man with the unruly, dark hair. A nagging thought whispered to him the man looked familiar, but he allowed the notion to wane with the night hours. He, too, was tired.

_A parselmouth_. Riddle couldn't shake the revelation from his bones.

_I am not alone_.

For the first time in a long time, Tom Marvolo Riddle did not know whether to feel relieved or afraid.


	27. Fate's Compass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after brings about the truth of Myrtle's fate. Christopher confronts Riddle in the viper pit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so very much for the constant support and encouragement! I apologize for this update coming in so late. Between the stress of the holidays, travel, after-work functions, and performance evaluations, my biological father had two major heart attacks over the course of the past week and a half. It has been a very stressful time for me on various levels. Although I had this chapter written, I couldn't bring myself to edit it. After a weekend of much needed rest, I finally finished editing and am decently happy with this chapter. 
> 
> Thanks again for your patience. I will be replying to each review/message as soon as I get the chance.

Hermione awoke with a start. She flung herself forward with such force that she nearly sent herself toppling out of bed. Despite the slight dizziness that plagued her, it was clear that a lack of mobility was no longer a concern. The side effects of the basilisk’s stare had waned. The restorative draught had worked—the petrification had been reversed.

All thanks to Tom Marvolo Riddle.

The same enigmatic young man who no longer sat across from her in the chair at her bedside. And the same one that had read her mind. A cold sweat threatened to break out across Hermione’s brow. _What had he seen?_

“Hello?” Hermione tentatively called out, wondering if Riddle was hiding in some dark corner, waiting to ambush her. She received no response.

Hermione pulled back the heavy blankets still laying atop her lower half and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her trainers were still on. She was thankful for that small bit of knowledge that Riddle left her be during her momentarily petrified state. How unusual it would’ve been to have the future dark lord be so courteous as to remove her shoes.

She pushed up off the bed and stood, her limbs tingling at the sensation of weight post-petrification. She rubbed at the feeling of tightness the skin on her forearms held; all scrapes and cuts she had received from the shattered glass were healed. She stretched her limbs—thankful to feel every ache that had settled into her joints.

Hermione glanced at the bedside table. Her wand rested there, appearing unharmed and ready to be taken in hand. She snatched the wand and sighed in relief at the familiarity of its grooves in her palm. Wandless magic was not something she had proficiency in, making her wand just as vital to her magic as she was. Hermione turned her attention back to the nightstand and the folded parchment that rested beside her wand. An immediate sense of dread washed over her as she examined the neat scrawl on the front that read _Sivad._

She plucked the parchment from the table and carefully unfolded the note.

_Miss Sivad,_

_ I think it is imperative that we meet again—and very soon. Please arrive promptly outside the Great Hall before dinner on the fifteenth of November. Until then, let us keep the moment we shared close. I eagerly await your arrival._

_ Sincerely,_

_ Tom_

Riddle was a stickler for politeness and formality when others could happen across what he wrote. Even in his well-mannered address, Hermione knew the sinister tone that fell between each empty space on the page. She knew he was telling her that the meeting they would have soon would happen whether she wanted it or not and he would certainly find her if she did not show. Furthermore, she knew there would be consequences if she spoke about what had happened the night before. About the basilisk nearly attacking a student, about him speaking to the serpent, and Riddle reading her mind. She doubted Headmaster Dippet would believe her even if she tried. Dumbledore, however, very well might… but she would only be jeopardizing herself and the safety of the future if she revealed too much to the future headmaster—if she had not already completely screwed that up on her own.

She folded the note back up and stuck it in the waistband of her skirt. She approached the only door in the room and rested her hand upon its cool, brass knob. Hermione was unsure of what world awaited her beyond the Room of Requirement with Myrtle’s potential survival having possible ramifications on the future. Regardless of the upheaval, she knew Riddle’s existence would remain her constant and, in that moment, it was the only that brought her a modicum of relief. She summoned her Gryffindor bravery once more and opened the door.

Hermione walked the halls of Hogwarts with no issue. She passed by several students who seemed to be making their way to and from the infirmary. No doubt the firewhiskey had done them in. Several other students she passed, including a group of Gryffindors, seemed to be reveling in their hungover state as they appeared worse for wear and sickly pale. She carefully steered clear of them in the event that one decided to express their hangover in the form of vomiting on her shoes. Though it would have little impact on how rough she appeared when she first caught sight of herself in a mirrored section of a hallway. Stained skirt, matted hair, _blood_on her jumper. At the sight of her appearance, she had quickly ushered herself into the nearest lavatory and did a quick cleansing and glamor charm on herself to minimize the battle-worn look she had. She still looked exhausted and her clothing contained wrinkles that she couldn’t manage to get out, but it was an improvement.

It was Sunday and the light that filtered in from the high windows set the halls aglow in a way that only the waning fall sun could bring. From the angle of the sunlight, Hermione wagered it was early morning. Breakfast would be served in the Great Hall with plenty of greasy foods to nurse the students back to health. Her own stomach growled, but she couldn’t dwell on breakfast—not until she checked on her friends. She had been missing the entire night. They had to be concerned.

Hermione made it to the Ravenclaw tower without incident and entered the common room. A few Ravenclaws milled about. Some sat by the fire with hot cups of cider while other seemed to have already begun study sessions for their finals, which would be arriving very soon. Everything seemed relatively _normal_. Hermione wasn’t sure what she had expected, but it certainly wasn’t a sense of everyday normalcy. Then again, there was no monster stalking the halls and assumedly no body to mourn when the sun rose. Why would it _not_be just another day at Hogwarts?

Just as Hermione began to ascend the stairs to the dormitories, Christopher cut off her path, nearly toppling straight into her. He looked nearly as terrible as she felt. His hair was a mess, he had dark rings plaguing his eyes, and the sickly pallor of his face indicated a severe lack of sleep.

“Christopher! You made it back!” Hermione put her hands up to keep the boy from stumbling into her.

“Hermione?” He yawned. “Late night? I didn’t see you after the ball… I assumed you made it back before all the craziness began.”

“Yeah, sort of. I went looking for you last night, but I couldn’t find you. The masquerade became too chaotic. I am positive Headmaster Dippet will cancel any Yule celebrations students are planning.” Hermione felt awkward at pretending the reality of what she had experienced did not exist.

“Dippet will say that, but the Houses will be having their own parties in no time and he’ll be none the wiser.” Christopher waved off her concerns. “Aviela left for the Great Hall already. I ran into her in the common room a while ago. She said she hoped to meet up with you there.”

“Well, I am awfully famished… Care to join me?” Hermione held out her crooked elbow to Christopher. Despite the charms she had cast on herself, she still felt grimy and dirty after going head to head with the basilisk and sleeping on her matted hair for hours, but she could bathe and rest after a much-needed breakfast and visit with her friends.

He considered her for a moment before carefully looping his arm into hers with a grin. In her eyes, Christopher had really become a close friend, but she wondered what held him back from extending the courtesy to those who cared for him. She often felt as though he elected to fade into the background around their other friends. She could tell Aviela had a history of overshadowing him, and yet another part of her panged with a worry that there was more to it than that. His chosen isolation concerned her. He did not have to feel alone. He _wasn’t _alone.

On their way to the Great Hall, Christopher recounted Dippet’s unprofessionally, humored reaction to discovering that the punch had been spiked with firewhiskey in comparison to Dumbledore’s graveness. Hermione knew Dumbledore had a right to be worried, but still managed to smile lightly as Christopher mimicked Dippet’s flighty intonation and tone. Hermione further thanked the heavens for Dumbledore and his future station he would hold at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Soon, the duo entered the Great Hall. Unlike the usual hum of hundreds of conversations being carried out at once and long tables that were filled to the brim with students, the Hall was much more quiet and students came and went as they pleased, grabbing whatever seemed appetizing and leaving for what Hermione assumed to be their own, respective dormitories. The houses were less segregated and more blended together as groups of students recounted the previous night’s antics in quieter tones as to not agitate the headaches many of them contended with. A waving hand from across the room caught Hermione’s eye. Aviela rested with one knee on the bench to gain leverage and arms waving high, trying to get Christopher’s and her attention.

Hermione and Christopher unlinked arms and made their way toward the blond who was flagging them down. Next to Aviela sat Minerva and Hagrid, both quietly eating their breakfast, unharmed and looking well rested. Out of all the things she had possibly screwed up by intervening in Riddle’s diabolical plans, this moment of peace with her new found friends and the hope that her friends in the future would someday share in the same contentment would make it worth it.

“Good morning,” Hermione said as she and Christopher sat down on the bench across from the trio. Hermione secured plate from the stack at the table and passed one on to Christopher. Her stomach growled at the feast before her. Large dishes filled to the brim with pancakes, waffles, eggs, bacon, sausage, and an assortment of breads steamed before her. A tray filled with various fruits wafted sweetly in the air. She grabbed a streusel muffin from the basket of fresh breads and began scooping scrambled eggs on to her plate. When Hermione heard no response, she looked back to her friends.

Aviela sat with her arms crossed and brow furrowed, appearing rather angry. Hagrid and Minerva ate silently, their heads down. She could’ve sworn a slight grin rested on Minerva’s lips.

“_Good morning?_Good morning is all you say!” Aviela huffed and picked up a biscuit. She pelted Hermione with it. “You were gone all night and all you have to say is _good morning_? Especially after your ominous farewell. I think not, Hermione Sivad!” Another biscuit thrown her way. Hermione ducked, laughing.

She began laughing so hard that she fell back on the bench.

“It’s not funny, Hermione!” Aviela leaned over the large tabletop, her hands pressed hard into the table’s surface top as she peered down at her curly-headed friend. Despite the blonde’s efforts to seem menacing, a smile threatened to make its way to the corner of her lips. “I was worried about you. Hogwarts can get really creepy at night.”

“I am so sorry, Aviela. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I am okay, I promise,” Hermione reassured the girl by pushing herself back up on her elbows and smiling warmly at the group.

“Yes, we can see that, but where did you _go_after your saw us to our dormitory?” Minerva asked between bites of toast with brightly colored fruit preserves on top. Aviela turned expectantly at the young witch, waiting with an eyebrow raised.

“I ran off in search of Christopher. I was worried he had gotten into the firewhiskey and needed help getting back to Ravenclaw tower.” Hermione lied smoothly—though it wasn’t a _total_lie, she assured herself. Christopher, himself, raised an eyebrow at her as a light blush crept upon his cheeks.

“Hermione… I’m flattered, but I can look after myself,” Christopher said as he paused eating, “Your safety is more important than mine.”

“Ugh, gag,” Aviela interjected before Hermione could even debate with him. “My brother and you—both missing all night…?”

Minerva went red in the face at the accusation.

“It’s not like that! I never even saw him...” Hermione put up a hand defensively. Aviela cast her squinted eyes down on Hermione’s form, trying to piece apart her response. Aviela’s eyes quickly widened and she reached forward, snatching something from Hermione’s person. Before Hermione could even register what Aviela had, the petite witch had already unfolded the note, read it, and was starting—open mouthed—at Hermione.

“No way…” Aviela flashed her a knowing grin. Minerva and Hagrid’s attention were drawn from their meal, to Aviela who stood with Tom Riddle’s note in hand. Hermione tried to rush forward and grab the note, nearly shoving her hand in a bowl of pudding until Christopher acted quickly and whisked it out of her way, but Aviela danced out of her reach.

“What is it?” Minerva inquired, trying to lean over Aviela’s shoulder. Aviela waved her off, cleared her throat and began. Hermione covered her face with her hands and groaned in anticipation of what she knew was coming.

“_Miss Sivad…_Ooh, how formal!” Aviela commented. “_I think it is imperative that we meet again—and very soon.” _Aviela looked at Hermione nearly scandalized. “_Please arrive promptly outside the Great Hall before dinner on the fifteenth of November. Until then, let us keep the moment we shared close. I eagerly await your arrival. Sincerely, Tom.” _Aviela practically screeched, clutching the note to her chest.

Hermione peeked between her fingers, her face red for all the wrong reasons. Christopher looked at her uncomfortably, appearing almost disgusted. Minerva’s mouth had dropped, her glasses slid to the tip of her nose as she peered at Hermione over them. Hagrid took another bite of bacon—chewing furiously—waiting for somebody to say_something_.

“Tom who?” Hagrid breaking the pregnant pause that had taken place.

“Tom Riddle, of course,” Aviela was full-blown smirking now. “So _that’s_what you were up to last night at the ball, sharing a _moment_with Slytherin’s prefect! No wonder curfew was not a concern for you!”

Hagrid tilted his head at Hermione, eyes wide.

“It’s not like _that_, Aviela. We just… talked.” Hermione’s stomach clenched. That was the understatement of the century.

“And Riddle would like for you to keep it secret and for you to meet with him again? All over a simple _talk?_” Aviela questioned her.

“It was a good talk,” Hermione responded lamely. She was going to _kill_Riddle. Minerva looked positively giddy, until her eyes trailed over to Christopher, who remained seated stock still beside her.

“Christopher, are you all right?” Minerva cast her full attention on the Ravenclaw boy who had now ceased eating. At her addressing of him, Christopher seemed to be pulled out of his reverie.

“What? Oh, I’m fine. I just… forgot something, is all.” Christopher stood, wrapping his bread in a cloth napkin. “I need to go study. Finals will be here before we know it, right?” Christopher waved goodbye to the group and left the Great Hall in a hurry. Minerva frowned, appearing disappointed at his parting. Hermione’s brow creased in worry. She knew he didn’t trust Riddle and maybe even hated him, but to go as far as to just up and _leave_? It was something she made mental note of to ask him about later.

“So, do you plan on meeting him?” Aviela extended the folded note back to Hermione. Hermione retrieved the note and hid it more securely in her waistband this time by pulling her jumper down over top of it.

“Part of me believes I don’t have a choice. I am sure he would hunt me down otherwise.” Hermione took a full gulp of her orange juice, almost wishing the flavor of firewhiskey were filling her mouth instead.

“A fan of the chase, is he? How romantic!” Aviela swooned. Minerva winced a bit at her notions of what constitutes as romantic. Hermione gave the blonde girl a soured look. “All right, I’ll stop, but this _does_explain the keen interest he seems to have taken in you.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione inquired as she dished a few slices of bacon onto her plate.

“How he always seems to look for you when you enter the Great Hall for starters. Secondly, he seems to usually find you on our trips to Hogsmeade. Third, I heard about the dance you two shared at the Slug Club.” Aviela placed her hands on her hips. “Don’t think for a second I don’t have insiders for the most exclusive club around!”

Hermione wasn’t sure which was scarier: Riddle’s plotting or Aviela’s ability to be so observant and conscript others to act as her spies.

“Are ye scared to meet ‘im?” Hagrid looked at her with concern. Hermione wanted to scream ‘_yes’_until her answer bounced off the rafters in the hall, but she didn’t want to frighten the young, half-giant. The further he stayed away from Riddle the better.

“No, Hagrid. I’m just nervous,” Hermione reassured him.

“Whatever you choose to do, Hermione, we support you and your decision,” Minerva said, looking earnestly at Hermione.

“She’s right. I know plenty of hidden corridors perfect for snogging… or hiding a body. Whatever you need, we are with you,” Aviela said, nodding in agreement with Minerva and finally having a seat once more.

“You can hide behin’ me anytime yer needin’ to. Perks of bein’ a half-giant n’ all,” Hagrid offered up.

Hermione smiled widely. They made every second she spent facing down the basilisk worth it. On that thought, images of Myrtle hiding within a locked stall flashed within her mind. Riddle had said she was unharmed, but Hermione had to know… what had become of the wailing witch?

“Last night, while on my way to meet Riddle, I went into the girls’ lavatory on the second floor. Myrtle Warren was sobbing uncontrollably in there. Any clue what that was about?” Hermione tried to appear aloof between bites of food.

“Oh yeah, I heard she went completely bonkers last night because she couldn’t get a date to the Halloween Ball,” Minerva said simply.

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.

“Supposedly, early this morning a student alerted Headmaster Dippet that the girls’ lavatory on the second floor was a complete wreck and people were in there talking to one another,” Aviela piped up.

“Katrina Hatfield, a Ravenclaw, told me that she had pulled all of the mirrors off the wall because she couldn’t stand the sight of herself not in a ball gown,” Minerva said.

“I am sure that’s just hearsay,” Hermione tried to brush the gossip away from the poor girl.

“Apparently she mentioned your name and said you fought a dragon, so that’s something to add to your future resume,” Aviela said. Minerva and Hagrid laughed. Hermione did not.

“So, as I fought this… _dragon_, how did Myrtle stay safe?” Hermione asked, unsure if she wanted to know the next answer.

“Well, Hector Savin said he overheard Myrtle talking to Headmaster Dippet and Dumbledore in the hall. He told me that she said a girl named Meredith protected her while you defeated the dragon, but, according to Hector, nobody else came out of the girls’ lavatory,” Aviela said. At the mention of Meredith, Hermione’s thoughts flashed back to the dressmaker in Hogsmeade named Sue and her deceased daughter named Meredith. _It couldn’t be… could it?_

“Such a sad thing that is, she was scared out o’ her mind sounds like,” Hagrid added.

“Maybe she’ll finally get the help she needs now that she is away from Hogwarts,” Minerva plucked a bunch of grapes from the fruit tray.

“What do you mean?” Hermione froze.

“She was completely inconsolable. St. Mungo’s arrived shortly after dawn and took her away for evaluations and magical rehabilitation. You know, the loony bin,” Aviela said.

“I heard St. Mungo’s asylum is a terrifying place. The thought gives me chills,” Minerva said, plucking grapes off the stem and popping them into her mouth one by one.

Hermione had saved Mrytle Warren from certain death, but she wandered what would become of the witch… and if some fates were worse than death.

Christopher strode up to the door of the Slytherin dungeons and waited, pacing back and forth like a madman. When a pair of Slytherin girls left the common room, Christopher pushed passed them and entered. Several Slytherins lounging around the common area caught sight of his Ravenclaw robes and furrowed their brows. Outsiders were not supposed to be in the Slytherin Dungeons. It was unheard of.

Although it wasn’t the wisest course of action in trying to locate Tom Riddle, Christopher began scanning the room vigorously looking for the dark-haired, Slytherin prefect. The Slytherin common room was dim. Everything that wasn’t cast in soft shadows harbored a dark green glow from light filtering in through the depths of the Great Lake into the high windows of the common area. The green light danced and sparkled with the waves and currents created by the lake’s many creatures—some known and others not as much.

The furniture either had shiny leather surfaces or were plush and velveteen, but all were either black or dark green in coloration. Portraits of former great Slytherins hung around the room along with tapestries featuring medieval Slytherins. A fireplace rested at the furthest edge of the large room, its mantle harboring the portrait of a snake for the House’s namesake. In front of the fireplace was a high-backed chair where an individual sat, long legs crossed, with a book in their lap. The pages turned on their own according. Christopher’s eyes narrowed as he homed in on his target.

Christopher walked toward Riddle, but before he reached the chair he was intercepted by a hand on his chest, halting him from taking another step forward.

“Hey, Ravenclaw, you aren’t supposed to be in here,” the Black family heir stopped him.

“Get out of my way, Hadrian. I’d like to speak to the _lord_himself,” Christopher spat, shoving the Slytherin’s arm down forcefully. Hadrian reared a fist back, prepared to strike.

“Christopher Goldstein, is it? Let him pass, Hadrian,” Riddle said, waving his hand lazily.

“You bloody well know who I am,” Christopher said as he rounded to stand beside the chair. Tom Riddle sat, reading a large tome. He looked much more put together than when Christopher had seen him walking the halls earlier that morning.

“Don’t I?” Riddle replied. “What is it that troubles you so? I am beginning to run low on favors before they require payment—in the event that you need a reminder.” Riddle’s eyes never left the pages of the book.

“Fancied a late-night meeting with Hermione, did you? And here I thought we had ‘_precious little time to accomplish our goals_,’” Christopher quoted him from the previous night.

“Plans change, though I am not sure why it is among your concern. She is unharmed, like I had promised.” Riddle turned another page. Christopher moved to stand in front of the fireplace, his form blotting out the light, casting Riddle’s book pages in darkness. The Slytherin heir chuckled and closed his book, humoring the Ravenclaw who stood deep within the pit of vipers. “Go on. You have my undivided attention.”

Christopher looked at the Slytherins who now murmured quietly to one another in the common room. Hadrian leaned against a nearby cabinet, arms folded, watching Christopher’s every move. Christopher stood his ground.

“The date on the note you gave her… That’s the night of—” Christopher began.

“Yes, I am aware,” Riddle said, squaring a look at Christopher as though challenging him to dare speak another word so loudly.

“Leave Hermione _out _of this,” Christopher seethed, his voice lowered. The common room door swung open, pulling Hadrian and Christopher’s attention briefly. Abraxas walked in holding a plate of pancakes he had swiped from the Great Hall. Abraxas paused at seeing the Ravenclaw standing opposite of Riddle. His brow furrowed.

“Christopher? What are you doing here?” Abraxas sat his full plate on a nearby table and walked to the group at the fireplace.

“He invited Hermione… Fifteenth of November,” Christopher never took his eyes off of Riddle’s aloof appearance when he spoke to Abraxas. If looks could kill, Christopher was sure that Riddle would be on his deathbed from the glare he was sending the Slytherin prefect.

“What do you mean?” Abraxas questioned, looking between Riddle and Christopher.

“What he means is I saw potential in Miss Sivad,” Riddle said, tapping his fingers in a staccato atop the pages of his open book.

“Is she…” Abraxas looked around the common room and lowered his voice. “Is she the reason for our change of plans last night?”

“In part, yes,” Riddle said.

“Leave Hermione out of this, Riddle. She’s just another student and poses no threat to us,” Christopher reasoned.

“Tom… We walk a fine line—a _dangerous_one,” Abraxas lowered his voice, “and I’m not sure if Hermione should get involved.” Abraxas maintained a look of concern on his face. It had been his initial request, after all, to ensure Hermione’s safety by striking a bargain with Riddle.

On Riddle’s terms, Hermione’s safety had been ensured before the basilisk was released. In exchange for her safety, Abraxas abandoned his plans of asking Hermione to the ball in favor of acquiescing to Riddle’s decision to take her to the masquerade, where he would personally ensure her safety. Abraxas and Christopher had known there was more to it than that: Riddle had long been suspicious of Hermione and her unusual arrival. Neither Abraxas nor Christopher had felt comfort in this trade off, but Riddle had kept his word to them thus far. Even still, Hermione remained unharmed. Abraxas was sure of it, as he had made eye contact with the witch in the Great Hall a little under a half an hour ago.

“As touching as it is to see you both fuss over Miss Sivad like mother hens, I would wager that neither of you know the girl half as well as you think you do—or would _like_to,” Riddle said, rising from his place on the chair. He walked over to Hadrian who was still leaned against a nearby bookshelf. “Hadrian, how many times have I forgone my word and jeopardized our organization?”

“None that I can recall,” Hadrian replied.

“Have I yet deceived you when an opportunity has presented itself to do so?” Riddled asked.

“Not to my knowledge, my lord.” Hadrian bowed his head. Christopher rolled his eyes. Hadrian was always a stickler for allegiance. Riddle turned to Abraxas and Christopher.

“Then know few things would keep me from my plans unless they were imperative to be addressed,” Riddle said. “Hermione Sivad is not your ordinary Hogwarts student. I have long suspected this, and my suspicions were confirmed last night. Based on what I have learned of her, she would prove to be an asset to our organization. Therefore, I took the courtesy to put forth an invitation she simply could not refuse.”

“Coercion,” Abraxas said.

“Blackmail,” Christopher spat. The Ravenclaw boy made to take another step forward when Abraxas extended an arm into his path, giving him a look almost as if to say _not here_.

“Call it what you wish, but I have reason to believe that her presence at Hogwarts poses more danger to those around her than we ever could.” Riddle adjusted the cuffs of his long, white shirt beneath his Slytherin sweater vest. “Believe me, Goldstein, when I say that her joining our ranks would not only keep Miss Sivad safe, but also ensure the safety of your sister and that mouse of a girl in Gryffindor you seem to also have taken interest in.”

Christopher failed to see how Hermione—the girl he braided flower bracelets and dined with in Hogsmeade—could harbor such a dangerous air about her, as Riddle had claimed. He knew Riddle would not delve deeper and provide his reasoning now—not when he was within earshot of several Slytherins who were eagerly listening as they pretended to play wizard’s chess or study throughout the common room. His only solution would be to wait for the fifteenth to arrive to learn what transpired that had been so significant as for Riddle to halt his plans that had been in the works for years now.

“November, then?” Abraxas toed the rug at the fireplace, hands now balled into fists in his pockets, Christopher noted. The Malfoy heir knew better than to challenge Riddle right now.

Riddle nodded and proceeded to pick up his book before making his departure. He passed Hadrian, who bowed his head deeply; Abraxas, who nodded sharply; and stopped in front of Christopher, towering over him.

“I advise you not to pry at Miss Sivad for more information about last night,” Riddle said barely above a whisper to the Goldstein twin. “You have no idea what you are up against.”

“I am not _afraid_of you, Riddle,” Christopher said back, even though he knew his statement was only a partial truth. Riddle’s mouth curled into a sinister smile, as though he knew something Christopher did not.

“Despite how entertaining it is to watch you shake in your loafers while laying claims to bravery, I wasn’t speaking of myself,” Riddle said. “Miss Sivad is running from a darkness so deep that your coddled mind and agreeable life would not allow you to begin to comprehend what she has faced.” Riddle was almost seething at this point.

“And you could fathom such a darkness?” Christopher struggled to force himself still in the face of Riddle, especially after what the young man had nearly accomplished the night before.

“Yes, I could,” Riddle replied, his eyes looking through Christopher as though he were searching for something far beyond his reach. He walked past the Ravenclaw boy before pausing to look over his shoulder. “Like calls to like, Mr. Goldstein. It is by no accident that Hermione Sivad and I were to meet in this lifetime. Of that, I am certain.”

The Slytherin prefect walked out of the common room door, leaving Abraxas, Christopher, and Hadrian puzzled. For as long as the young men had known Tom Marvolo Riddle, he had articulated to them that each individual was in control of their own respective destinies, with no gods and no masters to bind them. For as long as the young men had known Tom Marvolo Riddle, he made it clear that they, alone, were in charge of their fates.

But, for the first time, Tom Marvolo Riddle spoke as though he was not the sole architect in the designing of his destiny. For the first time, he spoke as though he were a man capable of believing in something beyond himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> The next few chapters are going to be fun because it will feature the setting of Christmas at Hogwarts! Which, in my mind, is always a bit fun, romantic, and dangerous along the way-perfect for a Tomione fic. Hopefully the next one will go up this upcoming weekend!
> 
> Please comment, bookmark, and leave a kudos! It keeps me motivated. Thank you! <3


	28. The Waiting Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione bides her time. November arrives and brings a warning from Abraxas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: It has been a while, folks. Planned on having this done by summer, but that was impossible. I am an educator in the public sector and the virus heavily impacted my job and mental health. I had a difficult academic year, but am happy to say I have moved on to a new, hopefully better job that will be more constructive and non-toxic environment. Additionally, when things began looking up, my step father's cancer diagnosis quickly progressed and he passed away at the end of May. It has been a difficult year for everyone and I have needed time to heal and grieve. Thank you for your patience and for holding onto my story--no matter how long it takes. I hope I'll be able to more chapters out soon. Hope you all enjoy this chapter.

The first half of November passed by in a flurry of darkening days and falling leaves. As autumn continued its slow descent into winter, red and orange leaves turned a stark brown as they swirled around the castle grounds. The morning frosts had become more severe, coating the vegetation in a thin layer of ice and snuffing out the remaining flora that was not meant to thrive in the bite of winter. With the nip in the air, the students at Hogwarts donned their scarves and gloves as they walked to and from their classes. Like the stillness of a cold morning, a hush had fallen over the school as the students shifted their focus from the celebrations of Halloween to preparation and studying for course finals that were imminent.

Hermione, despite all the chaos that had surrounded her lately, was no exception. Final exams had arrived, and Hermione Granger once again emerged in all her studious glory. Between preparing for her impending finals and doing her best to brush off the rumors of Myrtle’s tale from the night of the masquerade, she continued to work diligently on the potions project. Riddle had not shown up to assist her, however she had often found steps of the potion completed with detailed notes written in neat scrawl resting not too far away that logged the steps taken to tweak the portion. In fact, over the last few weeks, Hermione had rarely seen the Slytherin heir at all.

A few times at dinner in the Great Hall over the past week, she had caught sight of his dark head in stark contrast to Abraxas Malfoy’s full head of platinum hair among the Slytherin crowd. A few times the crowd parted just enough for their eyes to meet briefly. Riddle didn’t smile at her, nor did he smirk or scowl. His face was impassive, but his eyes baited her—like he was waiting for her to do something outlandish or extraordinary at any moment, like he _wanted_ her to. It was a fair assumption, but it was not something she would deliver on anytime soon—especially with Riddle having delved too deep into her thoughts. However, the fifteenth of November would be arriving tomorrow, and she would have to face whatever ramifications came with her moment of weakness. Hermione’s thoughts drifted back to the time turner. Part of her was ready to run and hope whatever havoc she wreaked was enough, but she knew the significance of her task and would not let down Dumbledore, her friends,nor the Wizarding World for that matter. She couldn’t.

In the days that had followed the Halloween masquerade and nearly-fatal basilisk attack on Myrtle Warren, Hermione had visited Alphard Corvus late into the night after sneaking out of her dorms and away from the ever-watchful eyes of her friend Aviela. Alphard, though all smiles in his portrait hidden in the corridor, seemed drained of energy even still. Of course, he _had_ projected his magical essence into Hermione—he admitted that much. Through their connection, he had been able to imbue her with the power she needed to face down the basilisk and send it back to slumber within the depths of the Chamber of Secrets beneath Hogwarts. Although it worked, the magical energy used by them both had exhausted them—and Hermione was nearly petrified by the basilisk’s stare, which Alphard had attributed to the latent blood connection between them. Despite how much Alphard touted her as his own in lineage by blood, they both knew she was still combatting a lifetime of being muggleborn by blood and that was simply a part of her that would not be erased. Hermione was relieved to some degree. Who she was and the obstacles she had overcome to become the witch she was today defined her. She would not lose that part of herself so easily.

Alphard had been thankful for her bravery in facing down the Serpent of Slytherin, but did not fail to gravely mention at what cost: Riddle had seen into her mind and accessed some of her memories. Though the wizard sensed the intrusion through his and Hermione’s mind-link, he was not reluctant to tell her that it is quite possible that Riddle had seen memories that would make him even more skeptical of who she was. One thing he was able to confirm: Tom Riddle had seen Voldemort—his future self in all his dark wizard glory. Alphard told Hermione he was able to push back, to usher the young man out of her mind with sheer magical force before maintaining her mind’s barriers while she slept, but he had still been too late.

What Riddle took away from seeing his future self in her mind, Hermione did not know. He clearly was satisfied enough with what knowledge he acquired from her mind to leave her be for most of the month—even after her reveal of being a parselmouth. She couldn’t help but fear that perhaps he was biding his time to devise a way to trap her and wrench the secrets from her.

And yet the looks in the Great Hall that he had given her did not portray that sinister air he had carried around with him thus far. For all that she had known of him and expected from him thus far, he now surprised _her_. It unsettled her.

“Hermione? Hello?” Aviela waved her hand in front of Hermione’s face. She was immediately pulled from her lingering thoughts that had her stare shooting daggers at an unsuspecting Gryffindor first year who looked terrified. She shook her head and withdrew her mind from the reverie it had been in.

“Sorry, I lost my train of thought for a moment… what were you asking?” Hermione had the grace to offer the first year a soft smile and mouthed _“sorry” _in apology.

“I asked if you planned to meet with Tom Riddle tomorrow outside the Great Hall at dinnertime,” Aviela explained as she stabbed a chunk of roast beef on her plate and savored each bite. Hagrid and Minerva had joined their house peers for dinner that day. Hagrid was slowly but surely making friends within Gryffindor house. She knew it was only a matter of time before he formed bonds with his own housemates; Hagrid was too kind of a soul to not befriend once you got to know him—even a little bit. Christopher had also skipped out on dinner in the Great Hall that day in favor of preparing for finals. Hermione couldn’t blame his desire to be prepared: she had heard that despite his lax teaching style, Slughorn’s exams could be brutal.

“I am still not quite sure. I have a lot of studying to do and I am worried about it interfering with my current study schedule,” Hermione said. She wasn’t lying about her study schedule; however, she was definitely being selective with her study timeframe.

“Sounds like an excuse to me,” Aviela said, rolling her eyes slightly as Hermione prodded at the vegetables on her plate with her fork.

“And if it were?” Hermione took a bite of her porridge.

“I would help you find a nice hiding place in Ravenclaw tower,” Aviela responded.

“Thank you.” Hermione smiled in knowing that she could count on her friend regardless of her decision to meet or not to meet Tom Riddle.

Hermione said her goodbyes to Aviela at the entryway to the Great Hall and offered her hand up in a wave to Hagrid and Minerva before she made headway for the library for a quiet study session since Aviela studied best by memorizing potion ingredients aloud and mumbling incantations under her breath. Hermione always struggled with noise when trying to focus intently on studying.

After entering the library, Hermione found a quiet, empty section with a rounded table and four empty chairs after a few moments of searching. She sat down and made quick work of withdrawing her quill, parchment, and books. She sat her opened bag atop the table and began studying for her arithmancy course.

Shortly into her study session, Nyoka poked her scaled snout out from the bag and licked the air with a flick her forked pink tongue. Hermione smiled as the serpent began easing out a little further.

“If you are attempting to be sneaky, I can tell you it isn’t working out as well as you’d like,” Hermione said, dipping her quill into the pot of ink resting by her stack of parchment.

“_Yes, Miss Hermione. Probably not. However…” _Nyoka hissed.

“Yes, Nyoka, you may come out for a while. I haven’t seen or heard anyone in this section of the library. And for good measure,” Hermione waved her wand at the serpent, “a disillusionment charm to make onlookers think you are a scarf from a distance.”

“_Does that mean you will finally place me upon your shoulders, Miss Hermione?”_ Nyoka hissed hopefully.

“Not in this lifetime I’m afraid,” Hermione said.

_“Then in another, I suppose?” _Nyoka asked. A cold shiver bit at Hermione at the thought of the other lifetime that, each day, feels more and more like a memory.

“Perhaps so,” Hermione said, scratching her notes deep into the parchment on her desk.

Hermione worked diligently on her notes, adding rough sketches of number charts to refer back to when comparing events throughout the history of the wizarding world in preparation for her upcoming essay. Nyoka sidled up close to her forearm for warmth in the drafty library, watching Hermione as she dipped the quill in the black ink repetitively until the serpent yawned lazily and closed her eyes. As the night waned, the candles’ flames in the library continued to burn hot—the wax and wick of each candle replenishing itself on the hour, as though anticipating its late-night guests. Between the soft lighting, the warmth from her companion, and the gentle scratch of her quill as the only sound piercing the quiet, Hermione found herself in the most peaceful state she had been in in a long while.

Upon her return from the encounter with Riddle and the basilisk, Nyoka had stuck close to her side, remaining wary of the “_other speaker”_ as Nyoka had dubbed him so. Nyoka had hissed that she knew Hermione could stop the King of Serpents, but Hermione did not go into detail about the help she had received from Alphard Corvus. She was just thankful the serpent had yet remained by her side despite the temptation that could’ve challenged the creature otherwise. She was grateful for the companionship and the honesty she could have with serpent—even if her familiar didn’t understand the nuances of human nature.

Suddenly, approaching footsteps had Hermione jostling Nyoka awake and gesturing for her bookbag. Nyoka quickly, and without question, slithered inside. Hermione continued to work on her notes, purposefully ignoring the heavy footfall heading directly toward her. Hermione did not look up until Abraxas Malfoy had taken a seat across from her at the round table and had cleared his throat rather loudly.

“Hey,” Abraxas said. Hermione looked up from her notes. He wore his Slytherin quidditch practice robes—a simple green and silver striped jumper and black, fitted pants. A light sheen of sweat clung to his face. Hermione had known that a few of the acquaintances she had met played quidditch, though she had not found the time or purpose to enter the pitch to watch a game. Flying always made her nervous, and seeing others fly at towering heights on flimsy broomsticks was no exception.

“Hello,” Hermione briefly looked back down at her notes as she finished up working on a number chart. Abraxas bounced his leg for a moment, like he had too much energy from just leaving practice.

“Look, I know things have been slightly awkward since the whole situation that happened in the forest at Hogsmeade and I wanted to say I am sorry for any problems I caused you,” Abraxas said, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as if it would uncoil the tense cord of awkwardness in the air.

“It’s fine, Abraxas, really. I forgive you,” Hermione offered him a gentle smile. Although the conversation had been rude in nature, she could tell his apology was sincere. He was a foolish young man—not much unlike Harry or Ron. The thought sent a small pang of hurt to her chest from a part of her emotions she worked to keep buried.

“Thanks, Hermione,” Abraxas replied. “I know you are busy studying, but I regret not taking you to the Halloween Ball. I wanted to ask… I meant to, but I messed up and thought better of it.” Abraxas’ eyebrows furrowed as he stared down at his hands resting flat on the tabletop.

“You’re welcome. Not to seem inconsiderate, Abraxas, but why are you telling me this?” Hermione asked, setting her quill down and giving the Malfoy heir her full attention.

“Because, Hermione, I want nothing more than for you to be safe and for you to find your place at Hogwarts and… I am afraid that I can’t guarantee that, and it makes me damn furious.” Abraxas tightened a fist and looked away from her and at the burning candle resting in the center of the table.

“What do you mean?”

“What did he say… what did he _do_ to you that night?” Abraxas asked lowly.

“Who, Abraxas?” Hermione asked, getting more and more unnerved by his urgency.

“Tom Riddle.” Abraxas cast a glanced behind his shoulder, as though he were expecting the darkling to materialize from the shadows. He leaned in closer, his next question leveled in a whisper, “What did he say or do to get you to agree to join?”

“To get me to _join?_” Hermione leaned in as well.

“Yes, join.” Abraxas nodded his head. “What did he offer you? He offers us all _something_—”

“Abraxas, stop,” Hermione cut him off. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“But, Tom said that tomorrow—” Abraxas began.

“That tomorrow I would be meeting him outside the Great Hall for heavens knows what. I haven’t spoken to him in weeks,” Hermione said, shoving her books in her bag while trying to be mindful of Nyoka. It was clear her peaceful study session was over.

“He didn’t tell you?”

“Abraxas, I am tired. Either be clear or bid me a goodnight,” Hermione finished collecting her bottled ink, quill, and parchment. She would apologize to Nyoka later for the loose quill tip that would surely poke the serpent as she walked. Hermione stood and pushed in her chair. Abraxas stood, blocking her path.

“A meeting—our club’s meeting. Tom invited you and he didn’t tell you. I am just surprised. His invitations are usually a bit more… forward,” Abraxas said quickly.

“The Slug Club?” Hermione slung her bag across her shoulders.

“No. It’s a bit more exclusive than that,” Abraxas said, wiping the grime from his face on the sleeve of his jumper in a quick swipe, as though he were trying to see her reaction better.

“So, you all have your own little club to challenge old Slughorn?” Hermione smirked.

“It’s not like that, Hermione.” The grave look on Abraxas’ face did not let up. “If Tom hasn’t offered you something yet, then he will tomorrow night. You’ll find it difficult to say no.”

“And what does Riddle tend to offer?” Hermione crossed her arms, feeling more and more uncomfortable by the minute.

“Anything you could possibly desire,” Abraxas said lowly, his gaze weighing heavily upon her.

“In exchange for...?” Hermione

“Companionship? Loyalty? Silence? The price varies,” Abraxas said, his fingers now tracing the deep lines the wooden table, avoiding Hermione’s gaze. “He invited you, Hermione. He will offer you something and, in return, you will have to give him something as well.” Abraxas stepped closer to Hermione until she had to nearly crane her neck to look at him.

“I can say ‘no’ as much as I please, thank you, Abraxas,” Hermione responded, now tapping her foot hoping he would catch the hint and step out of her path.

“We all definitely try our best, Hermione,” Abraxas seemed wistful before pulling himself out of his reverie. “Regardless, I wanted to tell you that despite what happened, I still look at you as a friend and hope you could see me in the same light again. And, before tomorrow arrives, I want you to know that Tom isn’t a bad person, he’s just… he’s just seeking his purpose. Sometimes that takes him too far.”

“I suppose that could be said for many of us,” Hermione reasoned with the Malfoy heir. Despite his words being intended toward Riddle, they hit home for her as well.

“I guess so,” Abraxas said, his hand, again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Whatever tomorrow brings, please don’t tell Riddle I came here looking for you.”

“Why would that matter, Abraxas?” Hermione asked.

“Because I have officially meddled in Tom Riddle’s business and he is not the biggest fan of meddling.”

“I can agree with that statement—Riddle certainly isn’t a fan of meddling; however, my personal affairs are none of his business.” Hermione tightly crossed her arms and jutted her chin out proudly.

“Personal _affairs_, huh?” Abraxas asked, waggling an eyebrow at her. Hermione uncrossed her arms and shoved him slightly.

“Oh, you know what I meant!” She said, fighting down the blush that attempted to grace her cheeks.

“Sure, Hermione.” Abraxas eyes searched her for a moment, but for what she did not know. “I better head out before you do. It’s getting late anyway. Tomorrow, then.”

Hermione nodded.

Abraxas took a few steps backward, his eyes never leaving hers, until he turned down another row of books and disappeared into the night, his footsteps fading in the distance.

In a moment of desperation, Abraxas had sought her out in his confusion. Unfortunately, neither of them had the answer and the interaction had only served to pass on the burden of worry to Hermione. Fortunately, she had gotten used to carrying a heavier load than usual. She squared her shoulders and walked with purpose back to Ravenclaw tower. She kept her composure as she prepared for bed and slid beneath her cool sheets and quilt.

When she finally drifted off, her dreams conjured demons who offered her everything she had once desired in her life. Each demon had perfectly combed hair, long white fangs, and eyes dripping black ink-like blood upon their stark white buttoned shirts. She only awoke when one Riddle-demon latched itself onto her with long nails, begging for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks again for reading. Feel free to leave a review. I am always happy to see those. Take care of yourselves. Wear a mask, wash your hands, and be kind today. xx


	29. Hide and Seek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Push and pull, give and take. No one walks away unscathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was super challenging to write because it is a transition in many ways, but I hope you all enjoy it!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has followed, left kudos, or reviewed my story in the recent past. Additionally, thank you to the many of you who reached out and extended condolences and kind words. It means more to me than you will ever know. <3

November fifteenth arrived as Hermione sat alone in her and Aviela’s shared dormitory. The desk before her was stacked with her textbooks and notes. She had waived Aviela ahead earlier in the evening to go to dinner without her, saying that she planned on spending her evening studying and keeping very much to herself. The mechanical hands of the clock on the wall marched on as she chewed on the inside of her lip. She wished Nyoka were here to talk with her about everything and nothing, but the serpent was on a hunt within the walls of Hogwarts.

  


She thought back to the exchange she had with Abraxas the previous night. Why would Riddle want her to join his club? Better yet, what could he offer her that she hadn’t already chosen to give up willingly to never see him rise to power? With his ability to read unguarded minds like an open book, she could see how Riddle would so easily hunt down one’s insecurities and exploit them when striking a deal. Hermione imagined that Riddle’s words of accord would dwell among their hosts like leeches on skin, like dirt underneath nails--scratching at your soul long enough until the itch claiming to know you better than you know yourself felt like your true nature.

  


She reached into the bottom-right drawer of her desk and withdrew the letter Riddle had imparted to her over a half-month ago.

  


_Miss Sivad,_

_ I think it is imperative that we meet again—and very soon. Please arrive promptly outside the Great Hall before dinner on the fifteenth of November. Until then, let us keep the moment we shared close. I eagerly await your arrival._

_ Sincerely,_

_ Tom_

  


Hermione remembered the chill she felt when she had first read the letter. What was left unsaid between the lines held a darker meaning: a veiled threat to keep close the secret they both shared, the entanglement of their potentially deadly troubles. Threat or not, she had no plans to reveal the events that transpired between them on Halloween night—especially since the rumors of Moaning Myrtle had mostly subsided under the pressure of exams. It was self-preservation at its finest for them both.

  


Her thumb bent and unbent the corner of the parchment, defiling the crisp edge.

  


He signed the letter “_Tom_.” She hadn’t noticed before.

  


  


Hermione stood at the door of the Great Hall. The Hall was sparse and students milled quietly about the hallways, returning to their dorms or the library for late night study sessions. There was no sign of her friends in the Hall and she had not ran into them on her way there. Hermione knew Aviela was suspicious of her study session actually entailing any studying. Aviela wasn’t wrong. Her mind had been elsewhere for most of the evening with her thoughts seeming more and more like strangers in their own home.

  


“Hey, Hermione. Looks like you came.” Abraxas approached her, his hands in the pockets of his black, unmarked robes.

  


“Abraxas. I thought Riddle would be the one meeting me here?” Hermione’s nervousness waned slightly.

  


“Sorry to disappoint,” he said cheekily, “Tom is waiting in the meeting hall. He asked that I escort you there.” He looked at her face, his bright eyes scanning, searching for something. He stepped closer. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

  


“And wait for Riddle to find me? Now might be the only opportunity I have to make this choice my own, Abraxas.” Hermione knew she could only avoid him for so long—especially if she kept him waiting.

  


Abraxas sighed and offered her the crook of his arm. She placed her arm in his and allowed him to lead the way. Hermione took a deep breath and imagined another life where they were just teenagers, taking a walk to nowhere in particular, just to feel time pass without the loneliness that often accompanies it. She loved the magical world in all its beauty and horror, but sometimes she wished she were living the lives her friends from her childhood were surely living now: sleepovers, window shopping at the mall, double features at the cinema, and prank calling teachers they didn’t quite like.

  


After several shifting staircases, Abraxas led her to the end of a hall that held an expanse of barren wall and eased her arm from his.

  


“Just one moment,” he said.

  


He paced back and forth in front of the wall until the Room of Requirement formed a slender, arched doorway. How this place remained a secret from much of the Hogwarts’ student body, Hermione would never know. She had been acquainted to the room’s strange magic on more occasions than she cared to admit. She didn’t even try to hide her lack of surprise at its materialization.

  


Abraxas opened the smooth black door and ushered her inside. She walked into the dim hallway and he entered swiftly behind her, securing the door, and more than likely willing it away on the other side.

  


The hallway they both stood in glowed softly with cool, green torchlight. The magical flames danced slow and lazy like sunlight through water upon the stone floor. The passageway was narrow and the ceiling was low enough to make her feel claustrophobic. Abraxas walked past her, only glancing back long enough to ensure that she was following him. She fiddled with the hem of the sleeve of her sweater, forever thankful for the paranoia that had her stuffing her wand in her robe pockets or in the waistband of her skirts before leaving her dorm.

  


Abraxas led her around the corner where the hallway ended and opened into a grand room. Hermione’s steps slowed, her eyes following the ceiling as it lifted high and glittered, creating the illusion of a starry night. The surrounding black-blue space that wasn’t filled with the humming lights extended indefinitely as though the vastness of space truly existed within the room and just out of her reach. The brightest of the enchanted stars were arranged sporadically into clusters, which Hermione could only assume mirrored the constellations of the current season. Her eyes trailed down the walls that were lined with floor-to-ceiling mock windows that seemed to ripple behind their panes like trapped sunlight.

  


The wall furthest to her right held a blazing black, marble hearth with oversized built-in bookshelves on either side. On the shelves sat a selection of matching, magical encyclopedias that Hermione had once seen showcased in bookstores at Diagon Alley as vintage collectables. The books held everything from charms and curses and magical artifacts to famous witches and wizards and known magical beasts. She had often dreamed of having her own collectors set when she grew older and finally had her own place.

  


Though the room was open, a sturdy wooden table sat in the middle atop of a plush green rug, dividing the room in half. The dark-tinted table and chairs were carved beautifully and polished to a shine that had the firelight dancing upon them.

  


From the architecture to the decor, it all was a mirror of some of the more beautiful parts of Hogwarts: the Great Hall, the vivid night sky views, the Library’s wealth of knowledge, and the coziness of the Slytherin dormitories. The meeting hall was a vision from Riddle’s own mind.

  


Hermione’s eyes followed the chandelier that floated lazily above the table, further illuminating the black-robed company it held.

  


Abraxas had paused his entrance into the room as she had stood struck by its beauty, but he was now politely clearing his throat. Hermione withdrew from her reverie and followed. As she passed by the table, she met eyes with Hadrian who was already glaring in her direction. She noticed several other Slytherin boys she had seen sitting nearest Riddle in the Great Hall on separate occasions speaking in hushed tones. In-between the high-backed chairs, she caught sight of a mess of blond hair. _Christopher_. His blue eyes found hers and he looked positively uncomfortable. Abraxas approached two empty chairs, pulling out the chair at the end of the table and gesturing for Hermione to sit down. Once she did so he followed suit, settling into the empty seat to her right.

  


“Miss Sivad, how wonderful it is of you to accept my invite this evening,” Riddle’s smooth voice broke the whispers around the table. She looked up, making eye contact directly across the way with Tom Riddle. Although he sat opposite her, there was no doubting which end marked the head of the table as Riddle’s chair held much more decorum in its carving. At the crown of his chair the bodies of two wooden snakes were intertwined—their fanged mouths mirrored one another and were both opening toward a shiny green jewel in the center.

  


Hermione didn’t wish to bother with the role of esteemed guest he was goading her to play. She was sure they all knew what had been the goal during the Halloween Ball and it was likely that they knew that she had played some part as a saboteur of those plans. How much Riddle had elected to reveal to his cohorts in his shock and potential shame was unbeknownst to her. She said nothing, but he was unfazed and continued.

  


“I cordially invited you here to personally extend the offer to you to join our exclusive organization.” Riddle’s hands were clasped together in front of him as he leaned slightly forward in her direction. It was clear to Hermione that this was part of the gimmick—the sales-pitch. She remained silent. “Our organization is not very well known among other houses within Hogwarts, but in time we hope that our common goals will unite us as we impart change.”

  


“And what do you all call this… organization?” Her curiosity had won.

  


“We are the Knights of Walpurgis.”

  


Hermione’s stomach bottomed out. Of course his club was the beginning of his Death Eater army. She had set foot into the viper pit without considering her position. The fingers of her right-hand twitched, ready to withdraw her wand, hurl a curse at Riddle, and fight her way out if necessary. Hermione tried to keep her face impassive under his gaze. 

  


She felt a gentle prod upon her mind; so slight that it felt like a need to yawn or scratch the back of her head to quell the minute itch. Had she not been training in keeping her mind shielded, Riddle would have easily slipped inside like spider a through a cracked window.

  


He smiled at her, but his smile did not reach his eyes.

  


“And why do you think I would have any interest in joining your Knights_?_”Hermione asked with caution.

  


“You are quite the skilled witch for a Beauxbatons transfer. True magical talent is rare and difficult to come by. Furthermore, we are much more aligned in our… likenesses than I initially perceived. Perhaps our future efforts might be aligned as well.” Riddle chose his words carefully. Hermione took the hint from Riddle clearly: the others did not know about her abilities as a parselmouth.

  


“I have my doubts,” Hermione said as she leveled her eyes at him. “Also, my skill has everything to do with my work ethic and perseverance, though I am sure that might be difficult to understand for those who have been tutored into their talents.”

  


In the corner of her eye she saw Abraxas squirm uncomfortably as several others at the table also bristled at her comment. Riddle may be an orphan, but the company Voldemort kept often had issue in acknowledging how they benefit from the economic and magical disparities existing within the wizarding world.

  


“I could not agree more, Miss Sivad,” Riddle responded with a chuckle. “Exceptional perseverance is a narrative that you and I have a pleasure in sharing. I imagine that, with a common goal, we would work quite well together.”

  


“Not if one of us killed the other first considering our… competitive spirits.” “Competitive spirits” was putting it lightly. She wanted to reach across the table and strangle him. The members of the Knights looked to Riddle to gauge their own reactions. A smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. He wasn’t intimidated. She had _humored _him.

  


“Yes, that would be unfortunate.” Riddle stood from his chair and rested his hands, palm down on the reflective tabletop. “Having you join the Knights would be a benefit. We could use your knowledge and talents at most, but simply an alliance would suffice.”

  


“You mean silence about your club’s involvement with the events that transpired during the Halloween Ball—or have I misinterpreted you, Riddle?” Hermione stared at him, openly challenging him. She eased the walls on her mind just enough to that incessant prodding and spoke plainly through the fraying thread of a connection. “_What exactly is it that you don’t want them to know, Riddle? That I am a parselmouth or that you are?”_

  


_ “_Trust me, Miss Sivad, if I truly desired silence I would allow my ‘competitive spirit’ to take over.” Riddle looked down at her, unwavering.

  


_“Death threats? Charming as ever, Riddle,”_ Hermione voiced through her own thoughts for him to hear.

  


“I know we have had challenges between us as students, but I am sure we can strike an accord that will mutually benefit us both.” Riddle moved from his chair and walked around to her right side, holding an open palm to her. “Come, Miss Sivad. Let us discuss what it is you desire most and how we can make it yours.”

  


Hermione’s eyes darted from Riddle’s extended hand to Abraxas’s guarded face as he now sat mostly positioned behind Riddle’s back. She saw his eyes narrow, either wary of the darkling’s actions or concerned for what she would say next—which one, she couldn’t tell. Riddle stood stock-still as he looked down upon her, blocking her way to the hall and out of the Room of Requirement. Fighting looked less appealing than it had before, especially considering how many fledgling Death Eaters were watching her every move and ready to follow Riddle’s orders. 

  


Hermione rose from her chair, standing on the other side—the furniture sitting between them both as a barrier. She waited for Riddle to lead them away from the group, but he only quirked an eyebrow at her and extended his open hand even further to her. After several moments of Hermione glaring from Riddle’s bored expression to his hand, someone at the table coughed uncomfortably. She huffed and placed her hand in his.

  


She had expected a hand that was cold as ice, but it wasn’t. In fact, Riddle’s hand was not only surprisingly warm but coated with a thin sheen of sweat. Was he _nervous_ by the exchange that had just transpired? He quickly guided her hand from his and into the crook of his opposing arm and led her to a door nestled between two faux windows that she had not noticed when entering the room earlier. He held the door open for her as his hand moved, barely sliding down her waist, before reaching the small of her back of which he pressed firmly and ushered her inside. Her skin prickled at the familiarity and her mind flashed to the kiss they shared just a few weeks earlier. She blinked the memory away, refusing to entertain whatever part of her brain had conjured it.

  


Once they both had fully entered the room, Riddle dropped his hand from her like she had stung him. The room they now stood in was decorated very much like the previous room had been, but instead of a long table there was a smaller, wooden desk with two chairs on either side; a plush, velvet green couch; another bookshelf filled with various tomes on either side of a a lit fireplace; and a map of Hogwarts hanging on the wall. It looked like the office of an evil family therapist—or a very good lawyer. She had yet to turn and face him when she heard him muttering a silencing spell on the room.

  


Hermione immediately reacted, grabbing for her wand to prepare for his attack. Where her wand should have been, she instead grabbed a handful of her woolen sweater. She patted her side frantically before she caught sight of Riddle examining her wand, turning it this way and that between his dextrous fingers.

  


“I have no desire to fight you. I just wish to discuss these matters in a civil manner so that we are clear on where we stand,” Riddle spoke as he rounded behind the desk his mind had conjured. He opened up top drawer and placed her wand inside. He withdrew his own wand from his robe pockets and pointed it at the lock. She heard a _click_.

  


“So no more formalities when your lackeys aren’t listening in?” Hermione folded her arms as her eyes narrowed on the dark-haired young man before her.

  


“Our dealings are none of their business. I afforded them the same privacy during such a meeting.” Riddle casually waved a hand at her, as he pulled out the chair behind the desk and sat down. He looked from her to the chair before him expectantly.

  


“I’ll stand, thanks. I don’t suspect this will take very long, so make it quick.”

  


Riddle quirked at brow at her and turned his attention to the door. A soft _click_ that mirrored the one of the desk responded to his gesture.

  


“So you plan to hold me hostage until I comply with your demands and acquiesce to your terms?”

  


“I simply wish to discuss where we stand. It would prove difficult to do so if with every moment we spoke you were preparing to curse me and attempt to escape.” Riddle gestured to the chair before him with a nod. Hermione reluctantly sat down, but kept her chair at a reasonable distance.

  


“What do you want from me, Riddle? Please tell me so I can provide you with a resounding ‘no’ in response and return to my studies.” His casual air had her unsettled. He acted as though they had not nearly killed each other a little over two weeks ago.

  


“Join the Knights. I meant it when I said we could use someone with your magical talents and skills in our group.”

  


“I don’t wish to be a murderer,” Hermione spat.

  


“It is a little late for that, don’t you think? The innkeeper rests in his grave because he crossed paths with you and your serpent. How is Nagini by the way?”

  


Her stomach dropped at Riddle’s jab.

“Her name is Nyoka and I didn’t mean—”

  


“I know you did not mean for that man to die, but it does not change what happened. Had you stayed away from the inn he would still be alive.” Riddle turned his head away from her to watch the fire roaring in the hearth across from them. “Why are you so afraid of the power you wield?”

  


“Because I know how devastating power can be—_is_—when in the wrong hands. I think you are beginning to understand the other side of that coin rather well.” _Why bother lying?_ She needed him to understand that they were not on the same side—they would never be. It was impossible.

  


“Seems very subjective of you to say so.” Riddle’s eyes slid to her. “I often wonder what it is you have witnessed that has you so frightened.”

  


“I am not frightened.” Even as Hermione spoke the words, she felt the lie sit bitter on her tongue.

  


“Then what are you running away from? On the night of the Halloween Ball I brought you here to stop the petrification process and I delved into your mind. I saw you running through a corridor as hundreds of glass objects crashed around you. You were afraid for what you had done. You were terrified at the prospect of being found by specific individual. _Who_ are you running from?”

  


The nape of Hermione’ neck grew hot as Riddle’s dark eyes, dancing with firelight and mounting frustration, pinned her to her seat. He wanted answers and she knew he would not stop until he found them. She felt the gentle prod of his mind on hers, trying to find an opening—a weakness in her off-guard state. She pushed back with force.

  


“Will you stop trying to get into my head? Do you actually expect me to give you any modicum of truth when I have to keep my guard up constantly just so I can have my personal thoughts remain that way?” She felt the thread of pressure cease from Riddle entirely. It was the first time in a long time that his presence didn’t bring the hum of her mental acumen into disarray. Even still, she did not let her walls down.

  


“Who are you running from?” He was insistent.

  


_ You, you, YOU!_ Hermione’s mind shouted violently into the wall she maintained.

  


“It’s really none of your concern, Riddle.”

  


“Is it the dark wizard with the red eyes? Is he the one you are running from?” Riddle waited intently on her response, his eyes searching her face. When she gave away nothing, he continued, “My Knights and I can offer protection to you if that is what you desire in exchange for your loyalty.”

  


Hermione did not know if she wanted laugh at the irony or cry hysterically at the audacity of the situation that would bring about a young Tom Riddle proposing that he would protect her from himself. 

  


“I am not safe from him anywhere,” Hermione said more to herself than to Riddle. She could not even look at him.

  


“Why? Is he aware of your presence at Hogwarts?”

  


“I told you, Riddle, it’s none of your business.” Hermione kept her hands clasped tight to keep herself from fidgeting under his gaze.

  


“It is my business if he is pursuing a member of the Knights.”

  


“I am _not_ a Knight. I have agreed to nothing to warrant my joining.” Hermione’s voice wavered under his rebuttal.

  


“Have you not considered that maybe joining is perhaps in your best interest _for_ your safety?”

  


“I would find no respite in your little club, Riddle. Christopher would deliver judgement upon me for the very actions he takes himself. Hadrian would rather see debauched and go missing before morning. And you… my death would have cleared the way for whatever the hell it is that you had planned to accomplish Halloween night.” She looked away from him and to the fire, wishing she could vanish within the embers and transport elsewhere—anywhere but here.

  


She heard the soft clacking together of teeth as Riddle’s jaw clenched.

  


“Christopher is a guilt-ridden fool who will get himself killed before he’s twenty because he wants to be seen as capable. Hadrian is self-ruinous and barely worth the effort it takes to keep his ill-mannered actions under control.” She could feel his eyes shift to her. “And yes, your death might have made my goals achievable that night, but it’s not what I wanted.”

  


“I am sure it was no small mercy. Are you expecting a reward for such an act of kindness? Maybe a gold star for not letting me die?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. Maybe he _would_ kill her before they left his office.

  


“Abraxas planned on asking you to the Halloween Ball to keep you safe. When he lost his nerve, I decided to escort you instead. It was his one request of me for that night.”

  


“Why not have Christopher or another one of the Knights escort me, then?”

  


“Because I didn’t trust them to follow through efficiently on my orders. I certainly tried on my part, yet you seem to have an innate desire to meddle your way into whatever opportune conflict arises whether it concerns you or not.”

  


Hermione broke eye contact. Riddle had escorted her to keep her safe at the request of Abraxas and he didn’t trust anyone else to step into the young Malfoy’s place to do so.

  


“Why didn’t you further encourage him to ask me, then? Why burden yourself with such a task?”

  


“It was not a burden to escort you. Furthermore, his incompetence with his emotions did not provide me with the evidence that he could follow through with both the evening and your safety effectively.”

  


“And your lack of emotions and detachment made it all the easier to do so?”

  


She saw him shift in the corner of her eye.

  


“Contrary to whatever assumptions you have chosen make about me, I am not without emotion,” Riddle ground out lowly to her. She had struck a nerve and she found that she didn’t care.

  


“My apologies. It must be difficult to fluctuate between your two emotions of apathy and murderous rage.”

  


“As opposed to yours of fear and loathing?” He retorted back at her sharply.

  


“I am not afraid,” Hermione spat.

  


“Then answer my question: why is that dark wizard so determined to find you?” His voice was louder, more insistent.

  


“Because I _exist_.” Hermione yelled back at him. A hot tear slid down her check. She slunk down in her chair and looked up at the starry constellations floating in the nothingness above the office. She identified their formations by memory, naming them off one by one in her mind, and forcing the tears down.

  


“My apologies if—”

  


“Don’t.” Hermione cut him off. She hated this. She hated him. She hated the hurt she felt, the grief of her other life lost to time. Dumbledore was a blighting fool for sending her. Most of all, she hated that she was crying in front of him. She continued to will the tears away one deep breath and shaky release at a time.

  


“Have you ever felt so despised just for existing? Despised to the point where your moments of happiness are seen as unfortunate? Your successes diminished? All because you had the audacity to _live_?” Hermione recalled the treatment of Draco and other Slytherins to her and her muggleborn peers. She thought of the purebloods who walked through Diagon Alley with their generational wealth in tow as they snickered at her awe-struck muggle parents who accompanied her. She was reminded of the stories of “mudbloods” and sympathizers who had encountered Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters and the torture or death that often followed.

  


Riddle interrupted her thoughts.

  


“Yes, I have.”

  


Hermione glanced at Riddle who was now peering into the fire, the flames dancing in his dark eyes once again. His mouth was set into a hard line. She had not expected such a resigned—or honest—response from him. She knew very little of his past aside from the fact that he had been orphaned and unwanted. If Harry was any indication, she knew the hurt was long-lasting.

  


“Then perhaps you understand that I’m not running from someone, but rather that I’m trying my best to run toward something better. I may not be free from persecution, but I am free to decide how I live my life in response.”

  


And that “better” for Hermione at this point felt like screwing up the timeline just enough, hoping for the best, and trying to get back home.

  


Riddle stayed silent. For some time, they both watched the flames lick the enchanted wooden logs which remained undamaged by the heat. The threat of her tears spilling over receded and she was left with a feeling exhaustion in its wake.

  


“I don’t regret stopping the basilisk,” Hermione said, breaking the silence and turning her gaze to Riddle. He turned to face her in response. She looked into his eyes, unafraid. “I would do so again and again, even if it cost me my life, just so others could continue to run toward something better in my place.” Hermione felt herself searching his face for something—_anything_. Riddle sat stock still, remaining impassive and unreadable. He seemed to be searching her face for something, too. She could not tell if he had found what he was looking for.

  


“Hogwarts is a refuge for people like us, Tom,” his name felt foreign on her tongue, but she continued, “please don’t make that an impossibility.”

  


Riddle stared at her for a few moments and stood up from his chair. He waved his hand and Hermione heard two, simultaneous _clicks_ echo in the room. He withdrew her wand from the desk drawer and placed it on the surface between them. He turned away from her and walked to the map of Hogwarts on the wall.

  


“You may go. Abraxas will show you out.” Riddle’s tone was professional, but she watched as his hand twitched at his side.

  


“Tom—”

  


“Consider the silence we share as our accord.”

  


He was adjourning their meeting. The moment of vulnerability she had exposed to him left her feeling bereft at his dismissal—a feeling she did not feel fully comfortable unpacking. She stood for a beat more. When it was clear that Riddle was truly finished speaking with her, she turned and left the office without saying another word.

Upon reentering the main room, she noticed that all the other members of the Knights were no longer present—save for Abraxas who was leaned against the wall, twirling his wand through his fingers lazily. He stopped abruptly when he heard the door click back into place, the silencing spell no longer in effect. Abraxas looked her over, taking stock of her slumped shoulders and her red-rimmed eyes that still sparkled a little too brightly in the lowlight.

  


“Hermione…” Abraxas’s brows knitted together in concern.

  


“Tom said you would show me out.” She didn’t look him in the eye as she worked to mask whatever he was trying to discern from her demeanor.

  


“Tom? Yeah, of course.” Abraxas scratched the back of his head as he led her back down the hallway from which they had originally came earlier that evening. Hermione grabbed for the doorknob, but Abraxas’s hand caught hers before she reached it.

  


“What did he offer you in exchange for joining the Knights?” Abraxas asked.

  


“Protection.”

  


“From who?” The growing concern was evident in his voice. 

  


“We agreed on mutual silence. I am not joining the Knights.” Hermione’s eyes stayed trained on the doorknob—on her exit.

  


“He never lets someone just walk away without striking a deal. You must’ve said something to really convince him.”

  


“Yeah, I must have.” Hermione wrenched the door open and walked away, her heart thudding heavy in her chest. She hoped he was right.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope to be back next week with another chapter and be back on a more regular schedule. I will post as quickly as I am able to write, read, edit, and reread again.
> 
> I am still catching up on responding to recent reviews, but please feel free to leave a review sharing your thoughts! Feedback always helps.
> 
> Stay safe and have a happy almost-weekend.
> 
> Constant Vigilance!


	30. Most Ardently

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Tom present their compatibility potion and a confession is made. What a tangled web they weave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I would like to thank Pride and Prejudice gifs on tumblr for the inspiration. Second, this chapter was a doozy to write, but I hope you all enjoy it! 
> 
> Content Warning: Immense staring ahead.

December brought blustery days and soft flurries of snow. Hermione had not seen Riddle for some time after their meeting. Even during her potions class, Riddle sat far enough out of her way that she rarely caught his eye. Potions class had been cancelled sporadically in the following weeks to allow procrastinating pairs to rush their methods of completing their experimental compatibility potions. She had a feeling that Professor Horace Slughorn was getting into the Yuletide mood a little early, and perhaps the firewhiskey as well.

  


In the weeks that followed, she received no communications from the Knights or Riddle himself. Hermione would have deemed him missing if their potions project hadn’t been immaculately cared for when she checked in, as evident by the detailed notes Riddle had left behind. She read the log carefully, looking for any hidden messages she might’ve missed somewhere between the lines. She found none.

  


With winter holidays soon upon them and final exams in the upcoming week, she knew Riddle would have to show himself eventually. Recalling the way he had dismissed her during their last encounter, she wondered if he would look at her again at all.

  


“Hermione! Are you even listening?” Aviela’s voice cleaved through her thoughts.

  


“Yes, of course,” Hermione lied.

  


Aviela looked at her knowingly from across the table they shared in the library. They had been there for hours, exchanging notes they had compiled together and quizzing each other on arithmancy, potions, charms, transfiguration, ancient runes, and—in addition for Aviela’s extracurriculars—astronomy. On several occasions that evening Aviela had politely grounded Hermione’s thoughts. She couldn’t blame the petite blond for the resigned sigh that escaped her lips as she closed the astronomy textbook on the table before her.

  


“Are we still not going to talk about what happened that night between you and Riddle? You’ve been acting off ever since.” Aviela cross her arms.

  


“No, Aviela. I told you already that there is nothing to discuss.” Hermione did not meet her eyes as she busied herself by neatly separating their notes according to date and subject matter.

  


Aviela tilted her head, eyebrows raising. “We both know that isn’t the full truth, Hermione.”

  


“There’s nothing _I_ wish to discuss.”

  


Aviela grabbed her arm to stop her sorting. Hermione reached her other arm overtop Aviela’s and grabbed one of the textbooks to put away.

  


“And why not? It has been _days_ and you still haven’t spoken about that evening. I’m worried for you. Did he hurt you?” Aviela’s brows furrowed.

  


Hermione shook her head, gently removing Aviela’s grip on her arm. “No, Aviela, it’s nothing like that.”

  


Aviela cleared her throat.“Then did you all… well… What I mean to say is, did you… did it go poorly?”

  


“What on earth are you talking about?” Hermione quirked a brow at her.

  


“Did you all, you know… do _it_?” Aviela’s face was scrunched up.

  


The book Hermione was holding slid out of her hand and thudded heavily to the floor. Her face grew hot.

  


“Dear gods, Aviela, is that what you thought?” Hermione’s fingers massaged her temples.

  


“Well, you’re both rather nice looking and he seems to have a keen interest in you.” Aviela was scrambling. “According to his letter it was obviously a date!”

  


“While I am glad to have a friend who is so concerned that _it_ might be… unenjoyable for me, I assure you that nothing even remotely of the sort occurred.” Hermione retrieved the book from the floor and placed it in her bag. “We argued. Pretty heavily, in fact. Truthfully, he hasn’t spoken to me in days.”

  


“And that is what’s bothering you so?” Aviela began putting her own books away, trying to hide her mortification.

  


Was that what was truly bothering her? Him not speaking to her? Months ago she would have found respite in the notion that he had chosen to let her be for any length of time.

  


“I suppose so. He’s… Tom Riddle is like a house spider. You know the spider is there because you have allowed it to be. It spins its web in the corner and takes care of all the other bugs that would cause you annoyance or frustration. But eventually that spider grows and it disappears from where you would typically find it,” Hermione shoved the last book in her bag, “and you’re not sure if its just hiding out in another corner or waiting to drop down on your face in the middle of a good dream.”

  


Aviela crossed her arms. “If Riddle gets to be a spider then I want to be a butterfly.”

  


“Done.” Hermione gave a half-smile to her friend.

  


“He does seem like the sort to spin a web and plan ahead—so sure that whatever he wants will just come to him on instinct.”

  


“Now you see why he has taken such issue with me. I knew he was a spider from the very beginning—others are still figuring that out.”

  


“And did you know that I was a butterfly?” Aviela batted her eyelashes at Hermione.

  


“No. In fact, I thought you were just a worm wearing a fuzzy coat.”

  


“A very _nice_ coat,” Aviela corrected her.

  


“The nicest woolen coat for a worm,” Hermione laughed.

  


They both finished gathering their things and stood from their chairs, being sure to push them in gently. Aviela tilted her head, studying Hermione through squinted eyes and down her upturned, freckled nose.

  


“What?” Hermione asked.

  


“I am trying to discern which type of bug you would be.”

  


Hermione readjusted the bag on her shoulder. “What’s the verdict?”

  


“Also a spider. What else can effectively take on a spider but another spider?”

  


“A centipede,” Hermione reasoned.

  


“Yeah, but those are foul and they have way more legs than anything should.” Aviela shuddered.

  


Hermione nodded. “Spider it is, then.”

  


The pair left the library laughing, linked arm and arm. She hoped with all hopes that Aviela would not get caught in Riddle’s web—or hers.

  


  


The following week drew to a close and most students were either celebrating the end of exams, excitedly chatting about the upcoming winter break, or loathing those that were. Hermione was among the latter. Though she had studied adequately enough to prepare for her exams and felt confident in her passing of them, she still had the matter of her final project presentation for potions class to tend to. And alongside Riddle, no less. She had still yet to interact with him despite his burning stare falling upon her at dinner in the Great Hall earlier that week. She had chosen not to give in to the feeling of being watched.

  


Aside from her remaining final, Hermione wasn’t looking forward to the upcoming break. The Hogwarts staff had magically erected evergreens in the Great Hall, libraries, and court yards. They donned the firs with colorful glass bulbs and strings of light that shined like unraveled constellations. It made Hermione all the more homesick.

  


She pulled her hair back in a low ponytail, a good protocol when preparing to handle volatile potions, and entered the empty classroom where Riddle and her had kept their shared project. When she rounded the desks to reach the cabinet where the potion had been safely locked away, she found the cauldron to be absent and a note in its place.

  


_I took the potion to Slughorn’s room this morning._

_ \- TR_

  


She placed the the folded note into the pocket of her robes. Part of her was glad she had not ran into him before she had to. Part of her was screaming that he was taking the potion to turn it into a poison of some sort to dispose of her. She pushed that feeling down. Riddle would never be so brash to kill her publicly. At least part of her didn’t think so.

  


Hermione made her way out of the empty classroom and headed to the dungeons for potions class. Upon entering, she noticed that many students were withdrawing their cauldrons from locked cabinets and placing them on their desks they shared with their assigned partners.

  


“Ah, Miss Sivad. It is a joy to see you,” Slughorn exclaimed as he waddled his way to her. “Tom brought your shared potion earlier this morning. He said he felt unwell and requested someone volunteer in his absence, the poor lad.”

  


Hermione released a breath of relief she didn’t know she was holding. “That is quite the shame. Who will I be partnered with in his place?”

  


“Oh, Tom will still be your partner. I encouraged him to go to the Infirmary for his ailments. This presentation is too important to miss! You see, we have a guest from _Potions Today_ with us to document our findings with the compatibility potion. I know, very exciting! I told Tom he could not afford miss out on such an occasion. To have one’s name in _Potions Today_ could very well secure them an apprenticeship under a master potioneer if they so desired it!” Slughorn was nearly clapping in glee as he gestured to the reporter sitting in the back of the room. A young, dark-haired woman fiddled with her lap desk, adjusting her quill and ink pot in their respective slots.

  


Riddle had tried to get out of their presentation. Had she really struck such a nerve with him? For months she tried to escape him and now he was trying to escape her. She felt a little joyous at Riddle having a taste of his own medicine.

  


“That is very exciting, Professor Slughorn. I hope your guest enjoys her time here.” Hermione doubted it. The salaciousness of watching teenagers test what would mostly be failed experiments was anything but.

  


“Of course, of course. Ah, if you will, go ahead and have a seat. Tom is a gentlemen. He will retrieve your project momentarily.” Slughorn walked to the reporter and began talking animatedly. Hermione wagered it was probably something far too detailed—or inappropriate—to be discussing with a reporter in a classroom full of students. She made her way to an available desk near the front of the classroom, removed her robe, and took a seat.

  


She didn’t bother withdrawing materials from her bag as Slughorn had taken their record of procedures upon submission of their cauldrons. She wagered that the evaluations and note-taking would occur after winter holidays when Slughorn had analyzed where the students went wrong. Instead, Hermione allowed herself to get lost in her thoughts, daydreaming about holidays back home and what she might be doing with her family instead.

  


Her mind’s wanderings swiftly returned to the present with the gentle thud and shaking of the desk underneath her perched elbow as Riddle placed the cauldron on the table took a seat by her side.

  


She slid her eyes over to him, examining his face in her peripheral vision. His straight nose, high cheekbones, and strong jaw was framed in a nice enough face that it would earn the envy of men and the infatuation of women in his adulthood. _Unless he made horcruxes_. She wondered at what point he lost his beauty in his hunger for power. She wondered if his future self resented beautiful things for it.

  


“Are you finished?” Riddle voiced, still looking ahead.

  


“It has just been a while since…” Embarrassment flooded her cheeks as she looked down at the desk. “I hope you are well. Slughorn said you were ill.”

  


Riddle shrugged out of his black robe and placed it on the back of his chair. “I am fine enough.”

  


“Oh, well that’s good.” Hermione brushed a stray curl behind her ear.

  


They sat for some time, not speaking, as the class readied their potions and submitted their notes. She could feel the tension roiling between them. She felt as though she had everything to say to him and nothing at all. She wanted him to just _look_ at her—just to clear whatever floated in the air between them.

  


He didn’t.

  


“All right, students, let’s have a seat and prepare our presentations.” Slughorn strode to the front of the room, his roundness careful not to bump the desks and disturb the cauldrons upon them. “As some of you may know, we have a guest from _Potions Today_: Ms. Velma Delford.” Slughorn made a grand gesture down the aisle to the woman dressed in a vibrant purple suit. The reporter waved to the class on cue. “She will be documenting our findings and, if deemed significant, will report it to the master potioneers with the publication for further study on the compatibility potion we have been working on!”

  


When no students responded to his announcement, Slughorn ushered them into clapping by nodding his head and clapping his own hands together vigorously. Hermione grinned and offered a few pity claps. Riddle didn’t clap at all.

  


“Right then! Let’s get the show on the road. Kinglsey, Leah—if you would start us off.” Slughorn gestured to the long table in the front of the room.

  


  


Half an hour later, most of the class had presented their potions. A few students were partially missing eyebrows or strands of hair as their respective potions puffed out significant amounts of heat along with a haze of soft pink to show either compatibility or light blue to show incompatibility. The compatible couples had blushed awkwardly as they cleaned up their work, while those who were incompatible looked relieved. One pair had to dive under the table to avoid the bubbling over of thick, purple foam from their cauldron, which Slughorn quickly contained and disposed of immediately.

  


When Hadrian and his partner, Ida Poler—a Ravenclaw student, dropped their hairs into their potion, a dark blue gunk blasted from the cauldron into the air violently. The spatters landed on Hadrian’s sleeve and immediately burned through the cloth as he attempted to shake it off to no avail. Ida frustratedly exclaimed that she didn’t even like boys and threw Slughorn a seething glare as she took her seat. Hadrian was urged by a red-faced Slughorn to go to the Infirmary so the mediwtich could see to his burn. 

  


Hermione grinned at Ida as Hadrian rushed from the room before the potion burned through to the bone. Ida, though red in the face, gave her a small smile back.

  


“Ah, it has been an… eventful presentation day! We have one more pair to round out the afternoon, then we may all be off to begin our winter holiday!” The students seemed to let out a collective sigh of relief as Slughorn waved his wand and vanished the dark blue ink from the table. He motioned for Hermione and Riddle to come up as he levitated their cauldron to the front of the room.

  


They both stood and walked on opposite sides of the room until they finally met, facing each other, beside the cauldron. He raised his eyes to look into her own. His dark gaze did not waver from hers as he reached up and plucked a hair from his own head. Hermione unfurled a curl from behind her ear and did the same. They held their strands over top the cauldron.

  


“On three,” Riddle said to her. She nodded. Procedure was everything. “One.”

  


“Two,” she responded.

  


“Three,” they spoke together and dropped their strands into the silver liquid resting in the cauldron below.

  


The liquid began to bubble and they both took a cautious step back.

  


A pink haze began to form until the vapor started to climb out of the cauldron and over the sides. Almost immediately, the pink vapor grew heavy, transforming into a deep shade of red. The smoke roiled from the cauldron and poured upon the table, red as blood, before hitting the floor and vanishing. The gas it expelled smelled of old books, pumpkin bread, and a warm hearth; like a rainy October afternoon with all the things one would need to make it all the more enjoyable.

  


Hermione’s heart leapt into her throat as she eyed the cauldron. She looked to the reporter in the back of the room for any confirmation that this was an error, but the reporter’s quill worked rapidly, excitement and intrigue flashing in her wide eyes. Slughorn’s mouth was agape and the rest of the students looked on with confusion.

  


She turned to Riddle who stared at the cauldron intently. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

  


He turned to her and quirked a a rueful smirk with an edge of bitterness. “Of course.”

  


Soon the cauldron, having quickly cooled, ceased puffing smoke and sat nearly empty upon the desk.

  


Slughorn’s thunderous clapping echoed in the room. “Utterly splendid! Absolutely marvelous work!” He made his way toward the pair. “I expected nothing less from two of my brightest students. Splendid work. Everything worked according to the anticipated outcome of a positive compatibility potion.”

  


Soon the reporter was at Slughorn’s side, quill and notebook in hand. “A job well done…? Names?”

  


“Tom Riddle.”

  


“Um… Hermione Sivad.”

  


“Tom and Hermione, splendid work. You will have to tell me all about your methodologies utilized. I have only seen few potions go so well in my field work. How many in-service days—”

  


“Now, now, Ms. Delford, I think these two would like a reprieve to reminisce on such a spectacular event.” Slughorn looked wistful before turning to Riddle and winking. “I will provide you with a copy of the detailed log they kept so you may take it with you for your report.”

  


Ms. Delford, flushed with excitement, nodded eagerly and began following Slughorn down the aisle.

  


“Class is dismissed! Your logs will be evaluated and your final grade will be determined and shared with you upon your return from winter holiday!” Before Slughorn could even finish, several students bolted from the classroom.

  


Hermione and Riddle stood stock-still as the students filed out in droves. Before long, only the two of them remained.

  


“What did you mean when you said ‘of course?’” Hermione asked, her eyes still on the cauldron before them.

  


Riddle was silent for some time, but Hermione didn’t move. She refused to leave without an answer.

  


Eventually, he turned from her and placed his hands on the wooden table in front of him. His eyes bore into the open door across the room. 

  


“All wizards who show greatness in their lives have a vice. Cowardice, pride, envy—all who are destined for greatness have a weakness that has the potential to be ruinous. It is the correction on unchecked power—a curse for those without focus. This potion only confirmed it.” 

  


“What are you talking about?” Hermione studied the hard line of his mouth and his furrowed brow.

  


His fingers pressed hard into the wooden tabletop. “You, Hermione Sivad. _You_ make me weak.” The words escaped his lips harshly, like his admission pained him—_burned_ him.

  


She was at a loss for words. He turned and looked at her with what she could only describe as contempt.

  


“How could I possibly make you weak?” Hermione crossed her arms and stared defiantly up at him, trying to quiet the thudding of her heart in her chest.

  


Riddle pushed off the table and rounded her, stalking her like a predator eyeing its prey, his eyes never leaving her.

  


“I would have killed you for ruining my plans had you been just anybody in that lavatory. I would have _killed_ you and felt nothing.”

  


Anger flushed Hermione’s face.

  


“Then why didn’t you?”

  


He took a step closer to her, eyes narrowed. “I have spent my days loathing you so fiercely that it would be unsurprising if the gods struck you with lightening before my very eyes.”

  


“If you despise me so much, then why didn’t you?” Hermione was nearly seething.

  


Riddle stared down at her as though he were reconsidering the act he forwent on Halloween night. She swallowed the lump of fear in her throat. He pulled back.

  


“I think the answer is obvious.” Riddle’s eyes searched hers before darting to her lips momentarily. A shiver crept down her spine.

  


She found her Gryffindor courage and looked at him with defiance burning bright in her eyes. “No, I don’t think it is. Why spare my life?”

  


Riddle’s gaze fell heavy upon her. “Because the thought of your troublesome curiosity, loud-mouthed opinions, and righteous anger ceasing to plague me would be another kind of torture.”

  


He turned away and walked to their shared desk. He grabbed his black robe from the back of the chair. Her mouth was agape at his admission. Through all of the disparaging words he said, Tom Riddle had just admitted to _enjoying_ her company. He _liked_ her.

  


Hermione gnawed the inside of her lip. “If you killed me, I would haunt you for the rest of your life.” She meant it to be a threat. It didn’t sound like one. 

  


Riddle huffed a laugh. “I would expect nothing less.”

  


She walked over to the desk and collected her things as well. She put her cloak back on and adjusted her bag on her shoulder before turning to him. They stood there, staring one another down for several moments. It was clear that they both refused to back down. _Competitive spirits._

  


She conceited, trying to ease the tension.

  


“Are you staying over winter break?” Her hands fiddled at the strap of her bag, picking at the loose threading.

  


Riddle frowned. “I have nowhere else to be.”

  


She winced slightly. “Ah.” _Orphan._

  


“I take it you have extended family that will be visiting.”

  


“I—no. Nowhere else to be either.” The truth stung.

  


They had more in common than she cared to admit and it hung heavy in the air.

  


“Everyone will be heading home over the next few days.” Riddle’s eyes didn’t leave her.

  


Hermione tugged at a loosened curl that threatened to fall in her eyes. “Aviela and Minerva can’t stop going on about their excitement to return home.”

  


“Headmaster Dippet is allowing the remaining students to got to Hogsmeade next weekend.”

  


“I had heard as much.” She had nearly forgotten about the scheduled outing.

  


“I will be outside of the Great Hall doors at noon.” Riddle said matter-of-factly.

  


“And you wish for me to be there?” Hermione blinked with unmasked surprise.

  


“You seem to get into trouble on these outings with alarming frequency. I would ensure safe passage for you and make sure the citizens of Hogsmeade do not feel your wrath. I won’t even expect payment unless you feel so inclined.” The corner of his mouth quirked upward.

  


Was Tom Riddle openly _flirting _with her?

  


“How generous of you to offer your services for someone in such desperate need as myself. With such _kindness_, how can I refuse?” 

  


And was she flirting _back_?

  


“I will be waiting.” His terse frustration from earlier had melted. He now looked positively smug. He stepped away from her and walked down the aisle toward the door.

  


Her face reddened at his change in demeanor. “I still loathe you.”

  


Riddle half-turned to her, a grin playing at the edge of his lips. “I would desire for nothing more.”

  


He left and took her exasperated sigh with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yowza. Next time: a trip (date?) to Hogsmeade and Christmas at Hogwarts!
> 
> Please leave a kudos, comment/review, and follow if you like the story so far! Happy to have y'all here!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know your thoughts, theories, or just quips you have about this chapter by posting a comment. I absolutely love reading each and every one of them!
> 
> Please leave a kudos, favorite, and subscribe! <3
> 
> Constant Vigilance!
> 
> -VS


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